


Like a Music That Holds My Hands Down

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: (NOT by any main characters), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Anonymity, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Jared, Dentistry, Dom/sub, Dominant Jensen, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Rope Bondage, Schmoop, Submissive Jared, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: Perpetually-single pediatric dentist Jared lets his best friend Misha talk him into going to an anonymous BDSM party.  Jared hooks up with a gorgeous stranger, but panics after their encounter and leaves before he can learn more about him.  A year later, Jared is stunned to recognize Jensen Ackles as the father of one of his new patients and the guy from the best one-night stand of Jared’s life.  With some encouragement from Jensen’s co-parent Danneel and Jared’s plucky office manager Genevieve, Jared realizes that he and Jensen might be perfect for each other after all.





	Like a Music That Holds My Hands Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 spn-j2-big bang.
> 
> I cannot heap enough praise on my artist beelikej for her amazing work (and amazing patience with me). [Go treat yourself and roll around in her beautiful art and show her some love!](https://beelikej.livejournal.com/533035.html)
> 
> Thank you to Rosa for the beta read!

 

“You aren't seriously wearing a harness?”

Jared leans back against his hotel couch and shakes his head. Of course Misha is wearing a harness. He looks exceptionally ridiculous amidst the aggressive beige of Jared's business write-off hotel room.

“Hey, Vicki made it for me!” Misha smooths his hands over his chest and strikes a horrible Zoolander pose. The Denver climate has only made Misha's face more crinkly, so his eyes basically disappear as he pouts his lips.

“When did Vicki take up leather working?” Jared takes another sip of his pre-game energy drink and grimaces. The stuff tastes like cherry-flavored window cleaner, but there's no way Jared's staying awake past midnight without it. Two straight days of dental conferences would leave anyone drained.

“There's a Kraft and Kvetch night at this co-op in Highlands. She goes with a couple of the other surgeons from Rocky Mountain.” Misha rummages around in his “European satchel bag” for his shirt. “They have a rivet machine covered in unicorn stickers.”

Jared downs the last of his drink and crushes the can in his hand. It doesn't make him feel less nervous, really, but it's better than pacing the room again. He's already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, both of which are five times tighter than he's used to. Misha had insisted they weren't even making it through the door in Jared's business casual slacks.

“Besides, I needed something to complement my man-purse.” Misha slings his bag over his shoulder and winks at Jared, because Misha is devoid of both shame and good taste.

“What do you even carry in there?” Jared pushes himself off the couch and slips the entirety of his stuff for the evening into his pockets.

“Supplies.” Misha arches an eyebrow and Jared knows so much better than to ask. You don't spend over a decade being Misha's best friend without learning that much.

“Come on, cowboy.” Misha gives his hair a last nudge in the mirror, which only makes it look that much more asymmetrical. “The big gay sex party's not going to start itself.”

Misha may be devoid of many things, but being a good friend is not one of them. Jared probably wouldn't leave his hotel room without Misha's boisterous encouragement, let alone go to a legendary S&M club. Jared shifts in his tight jeans and gives Misha a nervous nod.

Misha chatters on as their cab takes them to the club. Well, club isn't really the way to put it. Aggressively abandoned warehouse is more like it, with nothing more than a small group of men milling outside and some dim red lights in the windows to indicate that it's home to the much-hyped Black and Blue Party.

“I still think you should have gone with the clown mask.” Misha shakes his head as he slams the cab door closed.

“Thank you, this wasn't creepy enough.” Jared runs his hand through his hair and glares at Misha's entirely-too-satisfied grin. Just because Jared works with kids doesn't mean he's not afraid of clowns, like any sensible person. Except Misha, who had gladly offered to lend Jared a garish harlequin mask to wear tonight, complete with a rainbow-colored wig. Jared had deleted that text from his phone immediately.

“Besides, I want to stick out as little as possible.” Jared shrugs, and even Misha doesn't have a retort for that.

The facts are simple: this could cost Jared his career. Being openly gay is one thing. For every narrow-minded parent that chose to take their kids elsewhere, there were three more who knew their families would be welcome at Jared's practice. But walking around shirtless at a borderline-illegal BDSM party was another matter.

“Hey,” Misha stops him, looking up at Jared earnestly. “I get it. I promise you, this place is 100% confidential. I mean, how do you think it would look for Vicky if someone saw her husband at this place?”

While Jared knew that Vicky's sole objection to this little venture is that she can't be there to watch Misha do … whatever is it he's planning on doing – Jared tries to maintain what boundaries he can with Misha – it still makes him feel a little better.

“The only things you're allowed to bring in here are a mask and some pants, and the pants are really just a suggestion.” Misha grins beatifically, and Jared has the sinking feeling that this night will not end without the familiar sight of Misha full-frontal.

“No one is going to out you, Jay.” Misha squeezes his arm and smiles. “I promise.”

Jared huffs in a deep breath. He's still adjusting to the mountain air but he knows that's not the reason his chest feels so tight. Getting caught by a co-worker or a former patient is merely one in a mountain of worries. Aside from the truly staggering amount of porn Jared watches, his experience with this whole scene is pretty limited. Like, dated a guy once who begrudgingly agreed to tie Jared up and then stopped calling him limited. Like, he's only had a single one-night stand in his whole life limited, and now he's heading into a warehouse full of men who would probably fuck him before they even asked his name.

“I can hear you thinking.” Misha stops, crossing his arms over his chest. “We don't have to go. But I think you'll regret it more if you don't.”

Jared sighs, worrying his lip between his teeth. How is he even supposed to approach someone?  _ Hey, I think I'd like you to spank me but I'm not sure because I've never actually tried it? _

“Look, let's just see what it's like. If nothing else we can laugh at other people.”

Jared straightens up and nods.

“Yeah, fuck it.” He smiles at Misha and follows him to the door.

“You still haven't told me what your mask looks like.”

*

“I don't know what's harder to believe, that you own one of those, or that you've actually gotten laid wearing it.”

Jared tugs his own generic black domino mask into place and shakes his head at Misha.

“Everybody loves a mustache.” Misha makes a showy stroke of his Groucho Marx mustache, setting the large plastic nose askew beneath the oversize glasses. Bushy eyebrows flare up from the rims and make Misha's wide eyes look that much more startling.

“It's certainly memorable.” Jared leans back against the bar and immediately regrets it. It's not that he's uptight, but unidentified sticky shit on his elbow is low on Jared's list of favorite things. And stretching his arms back like that makes him startlingly aware of how very shirtless he is.

He's certainly not alone. He's still got his pants on, which makes him 60% more dressed than Misha and practically Benedictine compared to the two guys headed straight for him. Jared's palms feel warm as his glass of ludicrously-overpriced club soda sweats against his skin.

“Hey, Ty, Matt,” Misha greets them, because of course Misha knows them. The taller one, Ty apparently, although Jared prefers his hastily-assembled nickname of “one half of the infamous crime-fighting duo Twink and Bear,” claps a hand on Misha's shoulder and grins.

It's a bad habit, always assessing people's teeth. Jared's lost count of how many well-intentioned women have mistaken his too-long stares for flirtation, when in fact he's mentally cataloguing whether she was breastfed or ever had braces. Ty has the confident, cheek-stretching grin of someone who's never worried about his smile being anything but charming. Jared's betting on a combination of socialized medicine and good genes.

“Misha.” Ty squeezes Misha's shoulder with warm familiarity. “Wondered if you'd show up.”

Ah, Canadian. That accent explains it. Jared smiles as Misha introduces them and tries very hard to keep his gaze level. Jared's seen plenty of dick and he's a big fan, really, but he's just not used to having one wave hello at him when it's attached to a complete stranger. And a really elaborate cockring that is not making it easier for Jared to avoid staring.

“You playing tonight?” Ty leans against the bar, cocking his elbow out and working his jaw. Ah, cokehead Canadian.

“I'll see what turns up.” Misha gives a contemplative nod, the gravitas of his expression lost in the bushy eyebrows of his mask.

Matt hasn't said a thing so far, and Jared might be new to all this but he's pretty sure the padded collar locked around his neck means he won't be speaking unless spoken to. Jared shifts against the bar, trying to look at anything that isn't a penis and wondering how Matt feels buckled into that thing. It looks thick enough to hitch a wagon to.

“How about you, big guy?”

Jared turns at the phrase. After he'd hit 6'2” at the end of high school he'd pretty much accepted that he was always going to be the “big guy” in question.

“I'm, uh, just, you know, feeling things out.” Jared tries to look bored and probably settles somewhere around uptight. Ty tugs Matt forward by the short lead hanging from his collar. His eyes sweep up from under his lashes as Ty gives his leash an affectionate jerk.

“Well I'm always looking for a big dick to fuck my little slut boy.”

Jared tries to hide his splutter behind his soda, which just makes it worse. Christ, he can feel his cheeks turning red, which is an accomplishment in the body-heat furnace of the club. Apparently his brain's solution to awkwardness is to fixate on Ty's cock. Which, first of all, that is a  _ dick _ , no wonder this guy is always smiling, and second, Ty is inching towards a serious case of constrictive priapism if that mottled mauve color is any indication.

“Well, that's, um, very kind of you, I-”

“He's a bottom,” Misha cuts in, splaying his hands out apologetically.

“Well, ain't that a shame,” Ty sighs, shaking his head while Matt visibly deflates.

Shortly after leaving high school and climbing up to 6'4”, Jared had learned that being the “big guy” meant everyone and their mom (literally that one time, Chad's mom had serious boundary issues) thought he was some big old dick-swinging top. It's not like Jared's averse to topping, but nine times out of ten he's happiest with his legs wrapped around someone's waist.

“Yep, big old size queen. Like throwing a hot dog up a hallway.”

“Misha!” Ty and Jared both make horrified expressions. At least Jared is already as beet-red as he gets.

“I jest, I jest.” Misha lays a hand over his heart. “I would bet my life on the integrity of Jared's sphincter.”

“I hate you,” Jared mutters, closing his eyes and mapping the nearest path to an exit.

“Don't worry, big guy.” Ty grins and give Jared an appraising look. “I'm sure you'll find someone who wants to tap that. You boys need a bump?”

“We're good,” Misha answers coolly, smiling beneath the bristles of his mustache. Ty shrugs and tugs Matt behind him, disappearing back into the crowd.

“Those two are great if you're looking for questionably-safe sex and a steady supply of blow.” Misha shakes his head. “Ty makes delicious chili, too.”

Jared tries to picture a backyard barbecue with Ty's raging boner and a big pot of chili and decides he's better off not knowing. He fiddles with the elastic of his mask, smoothing his hair where it's gotten caught in the back.

“We need to mingle,” Misha proclaims, slamming his drink down on the bar. He runs his hands over the leather straps linked across his chest. “My wife didn't make me this fetching accessory so I could blend in with the bar.”

Jared smiles. Misha is fifteen types of certifiably insane, but his good mood is always infectious.

They weave their way onto the dance floor, where the bass throbs so loudly Jared can feel it through his shoes. It's not the kind of music he'd pick on his own, although “music” is generous. The droning buzz seeps into his skin and makes him feel edgy, like he's waiting for a shock of static electricity that may or may not come to fruition.

The whole place is charged with sex, and as Jared moves just enough to keep Misha satisfied that he's “dancing,” he's glad he has the mandatory mask in place. He couldn't school his face if he wanted to. Everywhere he looks there's men tangled up with each other, naked and criss-crossed with strips of leather and bright, blooming welts.

Jared's mouth runs dry as he watches two men step up to one of the small stages littered throughout the club. The dom is big and burly with thick thighs and short-cropped hair, muscles bulging over the leather armbands circling his biceps. The sub trailing behind him is completely naked except for a collar.

Jared feels the boom of the music and lets his body sway as he watches them. The sub sinks to his knees, closing his eyes while the dom strokes a hand along his jaw. The rough wood of the stage must be grating on his knees but he shows no sign of it, clasping his hands behind his back and opening his mouth.

The dom pulls him in by the hair, rubbing his parted lips along the obvious bulge in his skintight jeans. Jared watches as the sub's cock flags to fullness, ignored between his spread legs. When the dom pulls him back and unzips, the look of pure, lax bliss on the sub's face makes Jared sway on his feet a little. The man looks like he doesn't have a single thought in the world except deep-throating his dom’s cock, every muscle loose and a faint smile teasing at the corner of his stretched lips.

“I think you're drooling.” Misha smirks at him, raising his own eyebrows over the exaggerated monstrosities of his mask. Jared sighs and tears his eyes away just as the sub starts humping against the dom’s leg.

“I have to take a leak, come on.” At least Misha seems committed to not leaving him alone, which is probably a good thing. Jared hadn't noticed all the looks he was getting as he stared slack-jawed at the couple on stage, but he notices leer after leer as he follows Misha through the crowd. A predilection for sunglasses and poor posture has made Jared pretty good at avoiding attention despite his size, and the stares he gets make him flush.

The bathrooms are a half-level downstairs, bathed in blacklights next to a series of small alcoves. Blacklights and public bathrooms should never, ever mix in Jared's opinion, as both a medical professional and natural germophobe.

“Oh, my God,” Jared recoils, blinking at the glowing specter of the bathroom entrance. Phosphorescent splotches glow on every hip-height surface that Jared can see. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Hey,” Misha elbows him, peering over his glasses. “Judge not lest ye be judged in return.”

Jared peers in a little further, immediately drawing back as he sees a pot-bellied man kneel on the floor and … yeah, Jared can hold it.

“Besides, I bet about half of that is semen.” Misha nods knowingly, and Jared genuinely can't decide if that makes him any less willing to use the facilities.

“I'll wait outside.”

Jared sticks his hands in his pockets, trying to make himself as small as possible. This was a bad idea.

“Spoilsport.” Misha rolls his eyes and tells Jared not to move.

Jared sighs and leans against the stair bannister, the metal pressing against his back. Two men in head-to-toe black rubber glide past him and head straight for the bathroom. Jared doesn't belong here.

He turns to the side, because he just doesn't need to know what sort of day-glo those two are going to be sporting. The soft red light of one of the alcoves catches his eyes, the glow inviting compared to the DNA nightmare of the bathroom. Jared pushes off of the railing to get a better look.

Three men stand in the small enclosure. The light breaks pink through the chain-link dividers, dappling their bare skin. Jared's eyes slide over a bare back, freckled and refreshingly slim compared to the massive gym-hulks Jared's seen all night. His eyes widen as he follows the man's hands.

He's tracing over a series of intricate knots that trail up to the ceiling, meeting at a thick, circular ring of stainless steel. The rope splits into four main segments, each one webbing down to the man partially suspended from them. He rests on one foot while his other leg extends behind him, supported above and below his knee by the rope. Jared can just see the side of his face, the way his dazed smile spreads wider beneath his mask as he leans against the ropes that criss-cross his chest. The lines go taut as he shifts his weight, curling his weight-bearing leg off the ground and pointing his foot over his head in a remarkable show of flexibility and strength.

“Well now he's just showing off.”

The third man, a young Asian guy who looks like he's made entirely of whipcord muscle and trouble, runs a fond hand over the man's side and smirks.

“Jake's a dancer.”

The third guy nods knowingly.

“You want to keep staring, or you want to come in here and see what he's doing?”

He turns to look over his shoulder and Jared has the fleeting, insane thought that maybe if he stays completely still, no one will notice that he was totally staring.

The man smiles, making his mask ride up on his nose and even with half his face obscured this guy is ridiculously handsome. Apparently Jared's chameleon impression has failed spectacularly, because he tilts his head and beckons Jared over.

_ Shit _ .

Jared glances back at the bathroom entrance, but there's no sign of Misha.  The guy’s still looking at him, eyebrow cocked over his mask like a dare. It can’t hurt to just talk to someone, right?

Jared risks another glance at the bathroom.  Beneath the glowing specter of the blacklight two men emerge, both sporting toothy grins and streaks of paint that glow white as Jared squints at them.

It’s clown makeup.  It’s fucking clown makeup.

Jared straightens himself up and smiles at the beckoning stranger.  As far as Jared can tell he doesn’t have clown makeup, visible penis jewelry, or a cocaine moustache, so this is probably the best it’s going to get.  He won’t go anywhere Misha can’t see him when he gets out of the bathroom.

Jared tries to saunter over, and his steps do take on a certain melting quality as he approaches the guy.  His eyes sweep up and down Jared’s body, like he can take his time to assess him because his knows Jared won’t walk too fast. 

Here’s the thing.  Jared’s a sweater. It’s not a health problem or anything, but any combination of heat and nerves gets him glistening pretty quick.  He’s packed in a club full of men and the handsomest one he’s seen all night is eye-fucking him from behind a mask.

Jared is sweating like a fucking pig by the time he crosses the few yards between them. 

It’s not like Jared’s shy or anything.  He spends half his day introducing himself to screaming children and their exhausted parents, and he does it with a smile on his face.  He’s also usually in his nice air-conditioned office surrounded by children, his assistants, exhausted parents and other people he has zero interest in fucking.  Fucking’s not even on his mind as he approaches the guy. He’s got a sprinkling of freckles across his shoulders and fuck, he has gorgeous teeth.

Jared wants to know what his boots taste like.

Jared is also a sweaty mess and without even thinking, he wipes his palms down the front of his jeans before offering his hand.

“Hi.”

Jared smiles nervously as the guy stares at his hand for a good second, his lips playing up at the corners.

“Please tell me that was sweat you just rubbed off on your pants.”  The guy purses his lips.

Jared falters for a moment, because what the fuck else could it be?  Is this some kind of code? Is pants-rubbing some kind of great offense in the BDSM clubworld? 

One of the guys in clown makeup walks past and Jared’s eyebrows shoot up.  Right. The bathroom is literally glowing with what in the best-case scenario is mostly semen.  Possibly clown semen.

“Oh, my God, of course.”  Jared flips his hands back and forth like some kid accused of dodging his handwashing.  “I think I’d piss outside before I used the bathroom here.”

“Good to know.”  The guy nods and grasps his hand.  There’s that smile again, and this guy has definitely been through ortho.  His lower anteriors are still a little crowded, and Jared can just catch the shadow of a lower incisor elbowing out its neighbor.

Fuck, he wants to run his tongue over it.

Jared knows he gives good handshake but this feels different.  The guy’s hand bleeds warm into him before he gives Jared a firm squeeze.

“Sorry about that.  I’m J-”

“Don’t forget the rules.”  The guy cuts him off, pulling his hand back to wave his finger.  He’s still smiling.

Jared had honestly stopped reading after “You shit on it, you buy it,” but he remembers something about titles in the designated play areas.

“Oh, right.”  Jared runs his hand through his hair, feeling a few strands of it tug against the elastic string of his mask.  Hopefully it’s still a step up from his pants.

“I’m, uh, kind of new to all this.”

Misha had warned him about saying anything resembling that to someone here, something about sharks smelling blood in the water, but the guy’s easy stance and the slight quirk of his eyebrow above his mask make Jared feel comfortable.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t show too much.”  The guy leans in a little closer. Jared can feel him exhale.

“Besides, it’s kind of cute.”

A bead of sweat chooses that exact moment to slide down Jared’s forehead.  It tickles his skin but he doesn’t reach to wipe it away. Something about the guy just makes him want to stand at attention.

“So, what do I call you?”  Jared’s slouching has never been his best habit.  He tries to stand up straight but his head just wants to duck itself down.

“Depends.”  The guy doesn’t seem to have any trouble in the posture department.  He’s not as muscle-bound as half the guys strutting around this place but he looms in front of Jared, filling the space around him with an ease that Jared could drink over ice.

“You look like you wouldn’t mind calling me Sir.”

He’s got a drawl hidden in there, one Jared recognizes from his own carefully professionalized speech.  It pours over Jared, honey-rich and tempting. 

“Maybe.”

The guy’s eyes flash, flaring bright behind his mask. 

“What’re you gonna call me?”  Jared almost claps a hand over his mouth it’s so bratty (sassy, Misha would say) but there’s something about the stink of sex in the thin mountain air that makes him brave.  He licks his lips and tries to stand up straighter when the guy, and yeah, he could call him Sir, when Sir leans into his space. 

He crowds Jared in despite being not-quite eye level with him.  He’s still huge and God, he smells  _ good _ .

“You’re either gonna be a good boy.”

Jared’s back sticks sweaty to the railing behind him.

“Or a bad one.”

Dr. Jared Padalecki DDS MPH PhD is a good boy but his knees are fucking sluts.  It’s sheer will power that keeps him from sinking to the floor and praying Sir’s wearing boots for him to lick.

“But you’re gonna be my boy either way.”

“Y-yeah,” Jared manages to croak out, the “Yes, Sir” he wants to say still strangling his dick and making his stomach do medically impossible things.

He hums, deep and musing in his chest.  He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing behind his mask.

“A good one, then.”

His lips purse and Jared marvels.  People don’t understand how rare true symmetry is in human beings.  There’s about two inches between “really nice personality, I swear,” and “please breed for the sake of the human genome.”  The guy’s jaw is perfect, orthognathic surgeon wet-dream perfect. His mask doesn’t hide that much and he’s so close Jared can see the inverse blacklight illumination of freckles. 

“Yes, Sir,” Jared whispers.  It’s a phrase so absurd he fast-forwards through it in porn half the time but just saying it makes him sway.  It’s health-code breaking hot in the packed space of the club but the heat welling across Jared’s cheeks is all his own.

“Alright, boy.”

Sir’s hand circles around his wrist and God, Jared wants to feel that heat on every inch of his body. 

“You ever been to a party like this, boy?”

“Not, um, not exactly, oh,” Jared gasps as Sir’s grip tightens around his wrist, just firm enough to make Jared’s eyes snap to attention.

“Tell me the truth.”

Sir’s hand finds his other wrist, holding his arms by his sides. 

“No, Sir.”

“That’s better.”

It should make Jared feel like a child, having someone hold his wrists and scold him.  It’s not even safe. Jared’s hands are insured for half a million dollars and a complete stranger is squeezing dangerously hard right next to his investment. 

It makes every muscle in Jared’s body relax.

Sir’s lips part like he’s about to ask another question just as there’s a loud squeal of metal and a wet grunt from the play alcove in front of them.  They both turn to look and Sir smirks.

“I’ve seen Osric at a few things, he’s got a flair for drama.”

“Can, um, can you do that?”

Jared nods at the little suspension alcove, where show-off dancer Jake is dangling from nothing but two ropes around his thighs and Osric’s dick in his upside-down mouth. 

“I can.  But I’m not suspending you the first time we play.  I don’t know if you can take it and if I have to pull a knife on you I don’t want it to be because you’re freaking the fuck out and need to get cut down.”

Somewhere between  _ suspending _ and  _ knife _ Jared’s dick gets a little harder.

“And I don’t fuck at things like this.”

Jared blinks. 

“It’s not like I don’t wanna fuck you till you can taste it.  There are just some things I don’t like sharing with other people.”

Sir cocks his eyebrow at the sea of eyes all around them.  Jared’s heart sighs a little along with his cock-hungry whore’s knees.

“Just so you know.  It can be kind of a deal-breaker, I get it.”

“It’s ok, I mean, not that I wouldn’t, but.  There’s lots, you know.”

Jared puffs a breath out through his lips.

“There’s lots of things I can still do for you.”

Clearly Jared said something good because the guy crowds in close enough for Jared to really, really resent the no sex in public rule.  Of course he’s got a fucking fat cock and even his breath smells good.

“God, I bet there are.”

Jared’s legs have a mind of their own.  They fall open to let Sir in as close as possible, and they seize right up along with every other inch of him when their dicks brush against each other with only two zipper-flys and a blurt of precome out of Jared’s embarrassingly hard cock.  He’s a sweater in more ways than one.

“So what does this good boy like?”

Oh,  _ God _ .  Jared swallows a mouthful of spit that he can hear, and so can Sir if the soft groan he makes is any indication.

“I, um, anything you’re into, I mean, maybe not, like, pee, but whatever-”

“Never,  _ ever _ , say that to a dom, not in a place like this, sweetheart.”

Sir shakes his head, still impossibly handsome even when he’s frowning.  He cups his hand under Jared’s jaw and how his hands are so cool against Jared’s skin is a mystery he’d like to solve with his mouth.

“God, you’re just shiny-new, aren’t you?”

Jared blushes at the delighted glint in Sir’s eyes. 

“Ever been tied up, sweet boy?”

“Yeah, yes, yes, Sir.”  Jared licks his lips, tracking Sir’s eyes as he watches. 

“A little bit, and I’ve done some spanking, um, like some rough kind of, you know, and some, like, some CBT?”

It’s weirdly embarrassing to say it out loud, like some fidgeting intern under his resident’s unrelenting eye.  Jared’s been published in medical journals and he can barely string his words together right now. God, it makes his dick hard.

“CBT?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I mean, not with anyone else, it’s just, I do it to myself sometimes.”

“Shit.”

Sir cocks his head, two beautiful central incisors plucking at his lower lip.

“I want to tie you up and hear the sounds you make when I beat your ass red with my open hand. You good with that?”

In all the times Jared has jerked off to some wet-dream version of this, he’s had something sexy to say right back, or at least an actual English word.  What he actually says sounds something like a cross between the Thunder Cats rallying cry and that character from Game of Thrones who can only say his own name.

“Get on your knees.”

Jared’s still backed up against the railing.  Sir’s chest is close enough that Jared can drag his bare lips over it as he sinks down as slowly as possible.  He lands on his knees a little less gracefully than he’d like, but then Sir’s dick is in his face and Jared can’t do anything but press his cheek against it.

Sir’s hands are cool on his neck but he’s so, so warm behind his jeans.  Jared huffs a breath, his lips dragging on denim. He’s not the only one who’s getting hard.

“What’s your safeword?”

Sir pulls him to look up with a gentle tug on his ear.  Jared’s always had a thing for his ears. He stops himself from thumping his leg like a dog as Sir strokes up and down the shell of his ear but he can’t stop the riot of goosebumps over his skin.  It’s cooler down on his knees, where he can smell this guy all around him and sink down into the easy float of someone else’s control. He doesn’t remember that his mouth is hanging open until Sir gives him a sharper tug on his ear.

“Safeword, good boy.”

Safeword, right. Jared has one of those.  It’s cavity. He and Misha had talked about it on the way over.

“Oh God, Misha.”

“Ok, that’s a weird one, but whatever.”

“Oh, no, it’s not, he’s just who I came with.”

“You here with another guy?”

The possessive bite in Sir’s voice makes Jared’s dick jump.  He’s always been a sucker for the mildly jealous type.

“Just a friend.”

Sir’s face is obscured in the club lights and his mask but Jared can sense him narrowing his eyes.

“Seriously, he’s married, and just a friend, we’ve never even hooked up.”

Misha insists his attempt to force Jared’s retainer into his mouth during one drunk night of post-oral-path-final revelry counts as a kiss but Jared begs to differ.

“Sorry, I just.”

Sir sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t like sharing my toys.”

Jared’s knees would buckle if he weren’t on them.

“It’s, um, cavity?”

Sir gives him a puzzled smirk in answer.

“My safeword.”

“Sweet boy’s got a sweet tooth?”

“Something like that.”

It sounds better than “lol I’m a wholesome dentist who wants you to choke me out with your dick.”

A hand in his hair tugs him to his feet and it’s only the railing at his back that keeps him upright.  That and Sir’s hand knotted into his hair. Jared whimpers.

“Let’s find somewhere a little more private.”

Sir narrows his eyes and looks around before he nods at a neglected sawhorse tucked into a corner alcove.  He crowds back into Jared’s space, brushing his lips against Jared’s ear and practically begging Jared to hump his leg right there.

“If I had you home I’d make you crawl there.”

This is fine.  Jared’s fine. He remembers how to walk.

“But I don’t want you getting all filthy unless it’s from me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jared follows, as docile and happy as a puppy on a leash.  He’d wear a leash for this guy. The music pounds in his ears and bodies press in all around him but they’re background noise to the thump of blood in his veins.  Sir’s hand around his wrist is the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Sir drops a small duffel bag down by the padded sawhorse.  He catches Jared’s curious glance.

“Yeah, have to catch a flight after this, wasn’t sure how late I’d be here.”

That little scrap of easy conversation does more to settle Jared’s nerves than anything.  Jared bites his tongue on his instinct to ask Sir where he’s going. That’s probably a faux pas too.  He leans against the sawhorse, fidgeting without Sir’s hand holding him. Even in this relatively empty corner, he’s warm. 

“Don’t worry about what’s in there.  All you need to worry about is doing as I say.”

One of Sir’s eyebrows arches up over his mask.

“Like saying ‘yes, Sir,’ when I address you.”

Jared’s mouth falls open before he swallows.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy.  Put your hands on the bench.”

Jared turns and does as he’s told, spreading his hands over the pleather cushion.  At least the material feels like it’s easily sanitized. That’s good. There’s the rush of a zipper as Sir opens his bag, a quick rustle of fabric, something that clinks. 

“You keep your eyes straight ahead unless I say so.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared responds, always the quickest learner in his class.  He focuses on the raw brick wall in front of him, counting each crumbling edge and uneven bead of grout.  It’s patched up with concrete, same as the poured floor below his feet. Glancing down, Jared’s eyes widen.  His padded bench is bolted to the floor. A bead of sweat works its way down Jared’s back.

“Got any injuries I need to know about?”

Jared’s torn ACL had healed up over a decade ago.  Aside from that he keeps himself in good shape.

“No, no, Sir,” Jared catches himself, sighing at the bloom of warmth as Sir presses against his back.  The mandatory topless policy has its uses. 

“I want you to promise me that you’ll tap out if you need to.”

Jared’s probably the most vanilla person in this building but he’s done his share of fucking around.  He went to college. Somehow, here with this stranger in a mask pressed to his back, Jared feels safer than he has with half of his serious romantic partners.

“I will, I promise, Sir.”

“Good boy.”

Even in the close air of their little corner, Sir’s words make him shiver.  Jared won’t even talk to his patients like this but he just wants to be the goodest of boys for Sir, shamefully eager for praise from someone whose name he doesn’t even know.  He presses his palms into the pleather bench, grounding himself as Sir breathes hot against his neck.

“Now take your pants off.”

Sir’s voice is low, close to his ear.  Jared could melt into the floor and disappear into the cracked concrete.  His hands, usually the steadiest thing about him, can barely find the button of his fly.  Music thumps in the background, the repetitive beat overlaying the throbbing in his head. Jared’s brain has memorized and recited the precise cocktail of hormones surging through him and making his skin hum, but no dry scientific terms can really capture the steaming prickle that runs from his neck to the tips of his toes.  He fumbles with his zipper and slides it down.

“Push ‘em down to your knees.”

This is a different kind of shake in his hands.  Jared tucks his fingers into black denim and pushes it down his skin until his jeans are bunched around his knees and he’s wearing nothing but grey boxer briefs.

Sir is right beside him, bleeding warmth against Jared’s skin and hitching one booted toe behind Jared’s heel.  Jared chews his lip, so tempted to turn and look at him. His mask presses into his nose, a persistent itch to add to the skitter of sensation all over him. 

“Bend over until you can brace your weight on your chest, good boy.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared sighs, easing himself down across the sawhorse.

“Might have to spread these legs.”

Sir’s foot kicks at his instep, nudging him to side-step until his pants are taut between his knees.  It’s an awkward angle to balance at, his too-long legs stretched too tight to really slump down. His arms lay along his sides, motionless.  For some insane reason, Jared trusts this guy to tell him exactly what to do with every inch of his body. 

“Look at you,” Sir whispers, his hand big and easy on the small of Jared’s back.  Jared arches into it, canting up at an awkward angle that’s somehow perfect. It’s good, having to strain like this, feeling his muscles flex and work to hold him exactly how Sir wants him.  It’s a challenge and a distraction and a blooming seed of pride that he can withstand being uncomfortable, that he’s strong enough to please the man pacing behind him.

“Goddam.”

Jared can only see the floor but he can hear Sir’s long exhale, feel his hand cupping over the upturned slope of Jared’s ass.  His fingers dip into the thick elastic of Jared’s waistband, running back and forth. His fingernails are short and blunt where they drag over Jared’s skin.

Sir leans over him, his breath tickling at Jared’s ear.  “I want to take these off.”

Jared nods, hopefully not too furiously.  “Please.”

That might be a chuckle as Sir slides his boxer briefs down, not that Jared could tell with how hard he’s biting his lip and trying to quell the shiver riding up his spine.  They’ve barely started and he’s already overwhelmed, every inch of his bare skin shrieking at the humid, open air around him. Bare-assed and bent over, Jared notes that his cock is still conveniently trapped in the folds of his underwear, another layer of humiliation creeping over him as a slick bead of precome leaks out of him. 

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Sir’s hand closes over his hip, holding him steady.  For all that Jared’s work requires a singular focus and absolute control over his body, it’s fast-paced and leaves lots of room for him to say dumb shit to the kids and make funny faces over his mask.  All of Jared’s nervous energy can usually find an outlet in his fidgeting. Something in Jared tells him that good boys don’t fidget and wring their hands into nervous, clammy fists, but he’s flush with nervous energy, especially with the way Sir’s calling him beautiful and running his hand over the swell of Jared’s bare ass.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I like it when you say that.”

Jared is rewarded with Sir’s hands closing over his forearms.  He tucks them behind Jared’s back, laying one on top of the other until Jared’s hands are palm-up bracketing his waist and his shoulder blades are dipping toward each other.  It pushes his chest out, changing the distribution of his weight across the padded bench. Jared shifts, spreading his legs wider and fighting the urge to back himself up against Sir. 

“Are you nervous, good boy?”

Jared swallows.  His throat is thick, his mouth dry.  Bent in half with his hair spilling over the top of his mask, he nods.

“Good.  That means you’re not stupid.”

Sir’s voice is soft, kind for its teasing.  He rubs at one of Jared’s clasped arms, slides his thumb over the soft divot of Jared’s wrist.  Jared shivers.

Sir’s hand never leaves him, even as Jared hears the music-muffled sound of Sir pulling something out of his bag.  A heavy coil of what must be rope slinks onto his back. It’s soft and rough all at once and Jared thinks, absurdly, of his high school best friend’s beach house on Myrtle, with the worn-soft sisal carpets they’d drag their bare, sand-speckled feet on before clambering in for snacks and soda drunk straight from the bottle. 

“I’m going to bind your forearms together, but your hands will be free,” Sir says, doing something with the rope that makes it slither down Jared’s side.  Jared nods, unsure if he’s supposed to answer. He closes his eyes as the first cord of rope wraps around his forearms, a few inches below his elbows. 

Jared’s hands are his lifeblood and he’s keenly aware of the easy dexterity with which Sir handles the rope.  Good hands that have had a lot of practice, moving through the wraps and wends of his work with ease. It settles over Jared like a day’s-end sip of really good bourbon, warm and calming for all that it burns in his belly.  It’s not like it had been their fault, but most of Jared’s previous “dom” partners had been more nervous than he was and fumbling every step of the way. Sir’s calm, steady confidence seeps out with every twist of his hands and sure, taut stripe of rope dancing down Jared’s arms.  There’s something about quiet competence that’s so much hotter than showy bravado.

Sir finishes his work with a final twist of his rope, leaving Jared’s forearms linked together by a neat stripe of knots between them.  “You look good like that.”

Jared tests his restraints, flexing his muscles to feel the firm tug-back of the ropes.  It’s not so tight it cuts off his circulation, but even relaxed he can feel the firm pressure against his skin, holding him tight and sinking into his taut flesh.  Jared melts, tension oozing out of him and sinking into the cracked concrete beneath his feet and the skin-warm pleather under his braced chest. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

Jared’s hips stutter when Sir’s hand runs into his hair. 

“When I’m done, you’re going to kiss my hand and thank me again.”

Jared’s half-formed “Yes, Sir” evaporates when Sir tugs at his hair and brings his other hand down in a firm slap on Jared’s ass.  It’s not even hard enough to be painful, not yet, but Jared’s dick and his heart leap forward as one. Maybe it’s worse, or maybe it’s better that his cock is trapped in his underwear, tamped down and dampening the fabric as Sir draws his hand back.

Jared’s always appreciated composition.  A good story, a moving song, a beautiful picture – they all have a vision, a purpose, a plan.  Sir opens with a light staccato of slaps on Jared’s bare skin, just enough to sting and bring his blood to the surface.  Warmth radiates from him, snatched by the open air just to bloom back under Sir’s firm, open hand. He covers every inch of Jared’s exposed skin, from the backs of his thighs to the curve of his hips to the tender places hiding beneath the crease of his legs.  He’s firmer on the thick muscle of Jared’s ass and tender on the soft parts between his open legs, where Jared’s positive he’s never been hit before. Fuck, he’s never been touched like this before, not really. Dormant things awaken, phantom sensations and half-imagined shocks arc over him, pleasure-pain-ease that rocks him forward and jolts him to his teeth. 

It hurts, the way that a blackout orgasm hurts, the way no sheer pleasure alone can send him reeling.  With his skin flushed to attention and tuned in to every subtle note Sir wrings out of him, Jared bows his head and spreads his legs, thanks him with his body even if all he can manage out of his mouth is a series of animal groans.  He’s never felt more like himself and less like a man, not-Jared floating in the slick pool of Sir’s attention. 

All the porn Jared watches, and God knows he watches enough, features a Skymall worth of accessories and gear and gravel-voiced posturing.  Here, with nothing but his hand and a simple piece of rope, Sir works him into nothingness, blank and blissful, each strike of his hand a different instrument fitted for its purpose.  Hard slaps that linger and drag fingers into his heated flesh, fierce bursts of pain that leave Jared squirming and open-mouthed, a well-placed flick of one finger making him scream. Sir’s hand strikes him just to soothe up his back, tangle his fingers into Jared’s sweaty hair, scratch at his scalp until Jared could purr for him just to bring down a doubled blow of his hand to the meat of Jared’s ass.  It’s like flying. It’s like drowning.

A curious numbness settles over him, a sense of peace and intimacy even in this jam-packed warehouse.  Nothing matters but the man doling out his bliss, plucking strings Jared had thought impossible. The thrum of the music, the itch of his mask sliding down the bridge of his nose, the sweat pooling in the hollow of his back – they all take a backseat to the endless, inky calm that washes over him.  He could do this forever, live in this moment and take anything and everything Sir could throw at him. 

“Good boy,” Sir whispers, tracing up the bent wing of Jared’s shoulder blade. 

“You want more?”

His voice is soft in Jared’s ear, his breath tickling past sweat-damp hair to torture Jared’s skin.  He wants that mouth all over him, wants to beg for it and earn it and beg for it again. 

“Yes, Sir, please.”

There’s a moment of silence where Jared loses track of Sir’s hands.  Panic rises in his chest, was he supposed to say no? But then Sir steps in front of him and there’s a belt buckle in his face.

“You think you can take my belt, good boy?”

“Oh, God, please,” Jared moans before he can stop himself.  “Please, Sir.”

Sir’s hands rest on his buckle, thumb-slung like he’s waiting for the horses to come in from pasture or some cowboy shit Jared is Texas hard-wired to find hot.  He arches his neck forward, trying not to whine as Sir closes the small space between them.

Sir rocks his hips forward, a dare.

Jared closes his eyes and kisses body-warm metal.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sir’s hand closes on his hair, tugging gently while Jared kisses his belt.  It’s so close to what Jared really wants, a few inches from the heavy promise of Sir’s cock, but somehow it’s better, the worshipful push of his lips against metal and leather. 

“You gonna be good and tap out if you can’t take it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared hums, looking up through his mask.  Sir’s chest is flushed red, the freckles on his skin standing out against the blacklight that’s crept into their little corner.  His hair is raked to one side above his mask, like he’d pushed it back without thinking. He’s fucking gorgeous.

Sir’s eyes don’t leave him as he slides his belt loose, swishing it through the loops of his jeans and wrapping it around his knuckles.  Jared melts back into his bench as Sir steps around behind him again. 

He doesn’t get a warning for the first strike.  A ribbon of fire explodes across his skin, spanning his ass and curling around one hip.  Jared’s mouth opens, his voice lost as sensation blacks out his senses. It’s so different from Sir’s hand, harder and hotter and almost too much.  Almost. The second stripe across his backside leaves him quaking, knees useless, his arms twisting against his restraints. His breath catches in his throat, allowing him the barest gulp of air before Sir brings the belt down again.

Jared’s floating. 

He loses count of how many stripes Sir gives him, all of it blending together into one endless, blinding fervor.  Sir switches between his belt and his hand, landing a red stripe over Jared’s ass just to gently scratch over the blooming welt.  To the edge and back, Jared’s universe narrows down to the pulse of his body and the brilliant rhythm of Sir’s attention. Each spike of pain makes his cock throb, making a mess if he were with it enough to be embarrassed.  Each thud of leather against his skin sends him reeling forward, nudging the barest friction of his cock against the underside of the bench. He can barely catch the tell-tale tug of his balls before he goes rigid, his toes curling and his mouth falling open in a hoarse cry.

“Oh, God, I’m gonna—”

Jared couldn’t stop it any more than he could hold himself upright at the moment.  He squeezes his eyes shut, teeth bared as he comes without a hand on his dick. He hasn’t done that since he was a teenager.

“Holy fuck,” Sir curses, his hand closing over Jared’s hip.  “Did you just…?”

“I’m, oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Shh, hey, hey, it’s OK,” Sir says, amusement in his voice.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come.  I just didn’t think it would happen like that.”

Sir’s hand massages at his skin, fingers digging into the map of welts and red aches rising to the surface.  Jared shifts, briefly mortified at the wet drag of his own come pooling in his bunched-up underwear. He’s going home commando.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, aren’t you?”  Sir mutters under his breath, so softly it might just be Jared’s fevered, sloppy imagination.  He focuses on Sir’s boots as he slowly circles around to Jared’s front. The belt hangs from his clenched hand as he offers it to Jared.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Jared kisses Sir’s hand, brushing his lips across strong knuckles, suckling for the faint trace of salt from his skin.  Unexpectedly sated as he is, Jared’s still riled up and flying high.

“I want to get you off, too.  Sir?”

Jared’s arms ache, his shoulders throbbing from so long bent back, but he’d stay like this for years if it meant he got another inch of Sir near him.

Sir lets out a long, breathy sigh. 

“Of course you do, good boy.”

He slides his hand under Jared’s chin, tilting him up until their eyes meet.

“But I don’t think I can trust myself to behave if I get my dick out, not with you looking like that.”

Sir cups his hand over the painfully obvious bulge in his jeans.  Jared might lick his lips, he’s past caring. The half of his body that he can still feel is more animal than man at this point.

“I trust you, Sir.”

Sir pauses, cradling Jared’s face, his lips tugging up into a smile.  He shakes his head.

“Sweet boy.”

Jared slumps down when Sir lets go of his face. 

Sir’s hands deftly undo his ropes, criss-crossing and tugging with practiced ease.  Blood floods back into Jared’s cramped joints, pricking up pins and needles as he flexes.  Sir unfolds his hands, guiding one down, then the other, massaging at Jared’s muscles. He holds Jared firmly, making sure he’s leaning against the bench as he starts to straighten up.

“You’re gonna need to clean up a little bit, huh?” Sir jokes as Jared awkwardly pulls his pants back up, wrinkling his nose at the wet mess in his underwear.  He does not miss being a teenager. He stands up straight and goes to zip his fly, swaying a little on his feet. The Doctor Jared part of his brain kicks in to remind him that he’s probably light-headed from a cocktail of dehydration, orthostatic hypotension, and adrenaline. 

“Hey, hey, careful there.”  Sir presses against him, his hands closing over Jared’s biceps like he could pick him up.  He guides Jared to balance his weight on the bench, leaning back against the brilliant bloom of heat spreading across his ass.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna run and get you a towel.  And some water. I’ll be right back, OK?”

Sir pauses, his mouth opening and closing as he contemplates Jared.  He turns, just to immediately turn back and press a kiss to Jared’s shocked mouth.  Jared doesn’t kiss back so much as receive it unto himself, a communion with no holy witness but the background glow of the blacklights and the hum of Jared’s blood in his ears.  Sir’s mouth is warm, plush, somehow even better than advertised by those fucking lips. He’d been dizzy enough before, but now Jared presses his palms into the bench and prays he’ll never right himself. 

“Don’t go anywhere.”

The crowd around them has thinned out.  Sir disappears into a sea of shirtless bodies, leaving Jared to take a deep breath and wonder how long they’ve been tucked away in their little corner.  Five minutes? Forever? Jared’s heart is pounding in his chest, slamming against his rib cage enough to make the knots in his stomach jump. He rubs at his arms, fingers tracing over the braided indents Sir’s rope had left on his skin.  When will they fade? His coats for work have long sleeves.

He rights his mask where it’s fallen askew on his face.  His hair is a mess over it, tangled and damp, no doubt sticking out at weird angles when he runs his hand through it.  His ass is furnace-warm, vaguely uncomfortable and oddly itchy no matter where he fidgets. He shifts on the bench, lets himself stand and stretch.  He needs to take his underwear off as soon as possible.

Across the open area in front of their wall of niches, a broad platform boasts a wrought-iron suspension rig with a leather swing dangling from thick chains.  Presiding over it is Misha’s friend with the good chili, Ty, who seems truly in his element as he fucks into his partner’s mouth while holding an amiable conversation with the guy standing next to him.  Matt hangs on his back from the swing, his legs spread open by two straps, his head bent backwards to accommodate Ty’s unflagging dick. Judging by the spent slump of his body and the line of men standing behind the guy currently pounding into him, Ty had been successful in his mission.

Jared’s dick gives a twitch of interest as the guy finishes inside Matt and trades him off to the next guy in line.  Hopefully they’re all on Prep. While it’s something he’d never act on, the idea of a gangbang is hot as fuck in the right context.  He can’t see Matt’s face but Jared’s good enough at reading body language to know he’s enjoying every second. He shudders when Ty pulls his cock out of his mouth.

Jared goes on stints of watching too much porn.  He’s human, it happens. One of his favorite genres to binge watch is the rare intersection of good bondage and amateur.  He’ll sit through the shittiest quality video and a universe of butt zits to watch a real couple get up to some crazy shit.  That energy is hotter than any slickly produced studio number.

Ty kneels down, his hands petting through Matt’s hair as he kisses him.  Even though Ty seems like he’d get real tiresome at a party, he’s tender and perfectly focused on Matt as he holds him.  He presses his lips to Matt’s temple while the next guy sinks into him, as gentle as a bridegroom even with his absurd hard-on bobbing between his legs.  Jared doesn’t need to understand love to recognize it.

Who knows what Ty does for a living, aside from hosting cocaine-fueled cookouts.  Jared loves his career and he truly wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, but there are certain luxuries he’ll always be denied because of it.  Chiefly, a love like that. While his mama will always be disappointed it’s not the nice girls she’d always pushed on him, in his heart Jared knows he’s the marrying kind.  He’s closer to swingsets than sex swings, and he’s not foolish enough to think he can have both. Jared’s the kind of guy who gets taken home to parents and trusted with small children, not taken up to center stage for the unsafe-sex-Olympics.

He also apparently comes in his goddamn pants when someone takes a belt to his ass. 

Jared snorts.  This is ridiculous.  A guy like Sir would probably laugh in his face if Jared told him what he does for a living.  He probably does something dangerous and alluring. He probably goes to parties like this all the time and picks up guys who are way more experienced and way less likely to jizz themselves without warning than Jared. 

Jared doesn’t belong here.  He can play dress-up all he likes.  Beneath his mask and his ruined underwear, Jared’s stomach sinks, swooping down with the mild, miserable panic of a poor prognosis or a malignant lesion.  There is no world where Jared goes home with men like Sir. Happily-ever-afters are for fairy tales.

Jared’s heading for the exit before he can make any more mistakes.

~

_ _

“Now I know it looks bad.”

Jared quickly strips his gloves off and tugs his mask down his face.  No use reassuring a parent if she can’t see him smile.

“But this purple spot on Lily’s gums is a totally normal thing.” 

He grins back as Ms. Miller’s face collapses with relief.  Worried parents are the backbone of Jared’s business but Lily’s mom is going to have a long go of it if she gets this stressed out about a glorified bruise.

“It’s called an eruptive hematoma.  It’s a little bruise that appears sometimes before a new tooth comes in.”

“Oh, thank God.”  Ms. Miller sighs and pushes her expertly-highlighted hair behind her ear.  “I just read this article about Ebola and, well, you never know.”

Jared nods and smiles politely.  Jared has a better chance of winning the lottery than little Lily does of catching Ebola at her exclusive Hancock Park preschool.

Jared turns to Lily, who looks remarkably bored for a two-year-old.  Jared gets the feeling she’s used to being shuttled to doctor’s offices.

“Now I have a very, very important job for you, Miss Lily.”  Jared makes his very serious face. “You have to make sure you have a popsicle every day until your new tooth comes in.”

Lily’s eyes go wide for a second before she darts them over to her mother.  Ms. Miller’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she blinks at Jared.

“The ice will help with the swelling.”  Jared grins and dares her to say otherwise.  He turns back to Lily and gives her a wink. Her face lights up.

“Well, I suppose it’s fine until her tooth comes in,” Ms. Miller huffs. 

“Call me if it doesn’t go away in a week.”  Jared says to Ms. Miller. “Otherwise I’ll see you in six months.”

“And you,” he turns back to Lily.  “You enjoy those popsicles.”

Jared slowly brings Lily back up to a sitting position.  The new chairs he’d put in a few months ago were still so much quieter than the ones he’d inherited when he’d bought the practice three years ago.

“Sam can help you pick out a new toothbrush.”

She gathers up her bag, which looks like it cost more than Jared’s undergraduate education, and escorts a delighted Lily to the reception area.

The rest of Jared’s morning is devoted to new patients.  He glances at his schedule as Sam sets the rooms up. New patients are always a mixed bag.  Jared does a morning workout before new patient day.

Jared deals with a lot of Moms.  His first new family has two Executive Moms, and a nanny in tow.  Their newly-adopted son needs sealants and a mildly stern discussion about brushing.  Family #2 brings a Militant Vegan Mom who refuses to use fluoride. Jared gives his spiel about the dangers of juice and his nemesis, dried fruit snacks.  It kind of sucks to deprive the kid one of the only treats he’s allowed to have, but Jared has seen too many bombed-out teeth in kids raised on the diet of a fruit bat.

Jared instantly likes family #3.  Danneel Harris has the kind of body that could pull off an ace bandage dress and look amazing, but she’s wearing baggy sweats and an old Skynyrd tshirt tied in a knot at the back.  An auburn dye job that looks hand-painted and probably cost more than her daughter’s current dental appointment is tossed up in a messy bun behind a faded gray bandana. Her skin is radiant with no makeup and eyebrows that might be tattooed on.  Gen had gotten hers done a few months ago and wouldn’t stop raving about them.

“And what’s your name?”

June Harris-Ackles is a sharp-eyed peach of a six-year-old.

“June but everyone calls me Junie except my dad calls me Junebug but I only like it when he calls me that.”

“Got it.”

Jared nods and pats the seat of his exam chair.

“Can you hop on up here so I can count your teeth, Junie?”

June is an engaged, inquisitive patient who dutifully holds her mirror while Jared does his exam.  She’s new to Jared but not new to seeing a dentist, and Danneel and Daddy are doing a great job brushing.

Based on June’s enviable facial symmetry and giant green doe-eyes, Daddy must be just as gorgeous as Danneel.

“Well, everything looks great, Ms. Harris.”

“Danny, please, I’m not trying to turn into my mom just yet.”

“Danny, you’re doing a great job. And you’re doing a great job, too, cutie.”

Jared high-fives June, who smiles like she’s tolerating his nerdiness at best.

“Junie just got her grown-up molars in, and I’d like to put sealants on them.  Junie, does your mom ever get manicures?”

Danneel snorts.

“I try, when you and your sister aren’t running me ragged.”  She arches an eyebrow at June.

“Auntie Hilarie takes me to get my nails done whenever she visits.”

“Well, you know how they put a top coat so your nails are really strong and shiny?”

June nods.

“I’m going to put the same thing on your teeth,” Jared says.

June’s eyes widen.

“Does it have glitter?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jared jokes, smiling at June.

“OK, Junie, you’re going to go next door and let my friend Alona clean your teeth.”

Jared knocks off another initial exam before walking into the waiting room to stretch his legs.

June and Danneel are still there, making an appointment for June’s sealants while Gen shamelessly eyes Danneel’s tits.

June already has a string of stickers unspooling in her hand.  Jared sneaks behind the desk and rummages in Gen’s heavily-guarded special prize box. He bypasses the tiaras and pirate eye-patches until he finds one of the last of his favorite toy.

“You did such a good job, Junie.”

Jared crouches down onto his knees, hiding the toy behind his back.  He’s an expert at making himself smaller so he doesn’t intimidate the kids.

“I hereby name you Honorary Tooth Fairy.”

He pulls the wand from behind his back.  The plastic tooth at the end glows a rainbow of colors when Jared presses the button.  He spins his wand with a flourish, spiraling the blue tinsel streamers as he taps June on each shoulder. Even the perpetually-underwhelmed June breaks into a huge grin when he hands it to her.

“Junebug!”

June’s grin doubles in size as she shrieks “Daddy!”

Something tugs in Jared’s heart.  It’s an old tug, the kind that’s settled dully into his chest in his years of practice.  Jared always tries to focus on what he does have instead of what he doesn’t, but longing wells up in his throat as June hurls herself at her dad and wraps her arms around his legs.

“Sorry I’m late, babe.”

Jared blinks himself out of his childless reverie as he hears June’s dad plant a big kiss on her cheek.

“I don’t want you to miss your PT appointment, I know that shoulder’s been hurting you.”

“I’ll be fine, babe.”

Jared hasn’t even looked up and he can tell they’re a disgustingly cute couple.

“Daddy, look at what Dr. Jared gave me!”

June taps her dad on the stomach with her new wand as he laughs.

“Thank you, Dr. Jared, I—”

Jared looks up, his professional Invisalign smile plastered on his face as he shifts to stand up from his less-than-professional position on his knees.  Not that he’d mind being on his knees for this guy. Gen has a t-shirt that says “Thick Thighs Save Lives” and Jared says a brief Amen as he traces up a set of muscled bow legs.  He might lick his lips before he makes eye contact, Jared’s not really sure. It all happens so quick.

Jared knows that mouth.

All the hairs on his neck stand up just as his stomach drops to the petrochemical-free wood-paneled floor.

Jared’s had those lips on his neck, felt them brush against his ear and rub plush over his jaw.  He’s thought about the not-quite-corrected crossbite in those teeth a hundred times, usually with his dick in his hand and that one really fat glass plug in his ass.

Jared’s dizzy when he finally gets to his feet.

“You’re June’s dad.”

His palms are just as sweaty as the first time they’d met.

“Jensen Ackles.”

Even under a mask and glowing in blacklight, Jared would never forget the green of those eyes.  Jensen shakes his hand and his grip is just this side of too tight.

He knows.  He totally knows.

Jared has imagined a thousand scenarios for the man he walked out on. Rugged cowboy with a thriving vegetable garden, DL police officer who does yoga on the weekends, construction manager who loves dogs – Jared has daydreamed a Village People of possibilities for the only person he’s ever called Sir.

Closeted Hollywood DILF was really low on that list.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you.”

Jared levels just enough mettle into his “meet” and the straight set of his jaw.  Fuck this guy, Jared’s beat his dick raw imagining this guy alternately proposing and hanging Jared from the ceiling like a piñata, and now he strolls into Jared’s office with his beautiful house and his beautiful wife like a Talking Heads song.

“Well, Gen can get you and your wife set up with your next appointment.”

Jared gives them both a tight smile, although he can barely look at Danneel.  She’s way too sweet to deserve a guy who cheats on her.

“Oh, Danny’s not—”

“Sorry, I have to get to my other patients.”

Jared sighs before he smiles down at June.

“Thanks for being an awesome patient, Junie.”

Gen shoots him her patented Side-Eye-the-Squirrel look as he grimaces his way back to the safety of his exam room.

June waves goodbye and swishes her tooth fairy wand at the other kids in the room, blissfully ignorant of the adult bullshit drama going on around her. 

Jared wishes he could say the same for himself.

~

“I still don’t know if she’s gay.”

Gen rests her elbows on the reception counter and sighs.

“It’s just, like, are the nails short because you spend all day putting wires on kid’s faces, or is it because her hand wants to get me pregnant?”

Jared snorts softly into his tea.

“Misha said he never knew of her dating anyone.”

Dr. Adrianne Palicki had come with a hearty recommendation from Misha and a fellowship from the AAO.  She’d seemed like the perfect fit for the extra space he’d wanted to sublet – a complementary specialty with a good set-up for two-way referrals. 

She’s spent the past few weeks getting settled. Her only check in the minus column so far is Gen’s obsession with leggy, unavailable women.  Jared really should have seen that one coming.

“It might help if you actually talked to her.”

“I talk!”

Gen pouts over her latte.  The espresso machine Jared had installed in their break room had been a ludicrous expense, but it kept Gen happy and caffeinated.

“I’ve seen you talk more to the plants.”

“The carbon dioxide helps them grow,” she says defensively.  To be fair, Gen spent more time watering and murmuring to their thriving plant collection than Jared talked to some of his actual human friends.

Misha’s status as non-alien is always questionable, but Jared’s been ignoring his texts for too long.  There’s no way he can talk to Misha without his best friend’s spidey-sense immediately tingling, and Jared’s just not ready for that.

Alona comes in, bringing her usual sunshine with her and Jared’s glad for the distraction.  He has a bustling office with wonderful staff and a great job, he shouldn’t be woolgathering about Jensen fucking Ackles.  He finishes his tea and starts his day.

~

Jared has a rare fifteen-minute break between patients, so he takes advantage of a precious chance to drink some water and answer a few emails.  Working with kids means working fast. His schedule is usually jam-packed, a problem he is grateful to have. He doesn’t get to spend much time out of his exam room.

Jared’s waiting room is purposefully different than most pediatric dental offices.  While there are plenty of toys, he’d chosen to stay away from the corporate cartoons and excessively-gendered offerings of most children’s offices.  His toys are mostly made from natural materials, with neutral colors to match the comfortable mid-century modern furniture. 

Gen had worked her tiny ass off with the decorating.  As she’d predicted, their professionally-shot spread in her popular  _ Lesbian Blanket Fort: Queer Interiors _ blog had garnered him plenty of business when he’d opened his doors three years ago.

The family sitting on his Design Within Reach couch fits in so seamlessly with the décor it takes Jared a moment to recognize the mother.

“Danny?”

While the man sitting with his arm around Danneel is devastatingly gorgeous and has a smile that could melt the panties off a nun, he is definitely not Jensen Ackles.

“Hello.”

Her smile is all business but the arch of her impeccable eyebrow is knowing.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Padaleski, I’m Charles Malik Whitfield.”

That is a  _ handshake _ .

“And this is Tina.”

Danneel places her hand on the girl’s shoulder and gently nudges her toward Jared.  She’s about eight based on a quick glance at her height and her smile. She’s as stunning as her dad, with huge brown eyes and a shy smile.  Jared can immediately see the resemblance to Charles, while Danneel is nowhere to be found. While genetics can be tricky, Tina’s gorgeous complexion is a good three shades darker than Charles’. 

“I was going to bring her with Junie last week, but Tina had a cold.”

Jared has about a million questions, but his prime directive will always be to take care of a nervous child.  He crouches down and smiles at Tina.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, Tina.  Thanks for coming today.”

“You’re taller than Dr. Speight.”

Jared laughs. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

Charles and Danneel follow him as he leads Tina into the exam room.

“You know him?”

Even in LA, specialty dentistry is a small world.  Jared knows every local kid’s dentist by name at least, if not personally.

“I do.  Did he ever tell you that he has a dog named Peaches?”

Tina wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.  Charles looks on proudly as she lectures on her favorite animals (koala, dolphin, and the surprising tapir) while Jared does his exam.

“Tina, are you brushing these teeth all by yourself?”

Tina nods. “Every morning before school and every night before I go to bed.”

She smiles at Danneel.

“Danny always watches me but I don’t need help like Junie does.”

Jared nods slowly at the wealth of information Tina has just supplied him with.

“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job.”

Charles beams. “That’s my girl.”

“We are going to need to start thinking about braces, however.”

Jared gives his routine about palate expansion and the importance of early interception in crossbite cases.  He’s given it a thousand times, so it only requires the half of his attention that isn’t pondering how Jensen fits into all of this.  Maybe Danneel has a harem of hot dads?

“Dr. Palicki is right across the hall.  Hey, Gen?”

Genevieve appears in the doorway.

“Would you mind walking Miss Tina and her folks over to Dr. Palicki’s office?”

Jared smiles his brightest Dr. Jared Padalecki™ wholesome grin while Gen manages to simultaneously glare at him and smile professionally.

“I’d love to.”

“You two go ahead, OK, honey? I’m gonna ask Dr. Jared a question about Junie.”

She waits until they’re alone to slowly close the door.  Jared’s not sure if he’s going to be scolded or propositioned.

“I really was planning on bringing Tina last week, but I have to confess I had a slight ulterior motive for coming here today.”

“OK.”

Jared is paralyzed in his ergonomic rolling chair.  He’s had a dozen anxious daydreams about seeing Danneel (and Jensen, God) again, ranging from furious other-woman to smug superiority.  Turning up with a second, equally social-media-ready family was not in any of them.

“I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about me and Jensen.  Normally I have a whole spiel I do, and I figured I’d just explain when I came back with Tina.”

She crosses her arms over her Flywheel tanktop and sighs.

“Jensen and I have been best friends since we were teenagers.  We got out of the same small town together, lived in a studio apartment in Brooklyn, God help me, and moved out here when he got offered his dream job.  He’s the best dad on earth and I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”

Jared nods politely.  An enumerated list of Jensen’s stellar qualities isn’t high on his list of current needs.

“Jensen is also gay.  Like, really, really, gay.  Which I think might be the part you missed.”

This isn’t Jared’s business.  It isn’t Jared’s place to feel a skip of excitement in his heart that, if nothing else, Jensen isn’t a closet case.

“Oh, OK.  Our office is a safe space for every kind of family,” Jared says, lamely parroting a line from his website. 

“I’m sorry if I made any assumptions and made you uncomfortable,” Jared adds.

“Oh, you didn’t, or, well, you kind of did, but I’m used to it.”  Danneel shrugs, her slim shoulders pulling up the boxy straps of her top.

“I wanted to be a mom more than I wanted to keep waiting for Mr. Right to come along.  Jensen wanted to be a father, and we both agreed if nothing came along by the time we turned 30, we were going full-on nineties sitcom and having a kid together.  You kind of have to plan on some weirdness.”

Jared smiles.  He can only imagine. 

“Can I assume Tina is your step-daughter?”

“That’s a safe assumption.”

Danneel smiles, a different smile than the one she’d beamed for what a great dad Jensen is.  This is a love-smile.

“The weirdest part was definitely meeting Charles while I was pregnant.  I mean, dating is hard enough, right? Imagine doing it while you’re five months along with your best friend’s kid.  Don’t get me wrong, my tits looked amazing, but there were some weird moments.”

“How did that even … happen?” Jared asks, trying to imagine Charles hitting on a pregnant woman and failing.

“Charles’ partner was our attorney.  Jensen and I both have some epic d-bag bible-thumpers in our family and we wanted to make sure there was no way June would ever wind up with them if something happened to us.”

“Oh.  Yeah, I can imagine.”

Jared has more than his fair share of relatives he wouldn’t want raising a goldfish, let alone a child. 

“Tina’s mom passed away about three years ago.  I mean, grief is the only reasonable explanation for why a man as handsome as Charles was single when I met him.”

“Oh, poor Tina,” Jared says.  While all kids responded to tragedy in their own way, Tina had possessed a certain gravitas he associates with kids who have gone through rough stuff earlier than they should have.

“She deals with it about as well as any little girl who’s lost her momma ever could, you know?  Kids are amazing.” Danneel shrugs, affection written all over her face. June and Tina are both lucky to have her.

“Absolutely,” Jared agrees, wholeheartedly.  Amazing and so much easier to understand than the majority of the adult population.

“Well, thank you for … clearing that up.  Taking care of your girls is my number one priority, and knowing what’s going on at home is part of that.”

And knowing Jensen’s not a cheating dickwad.  Jared’s brain cycles through a dozen ways to ask Danneel if Jensen’s said anything about him without sounding like an extra from a bad afterschool special.   _ Do you think he likes me? _

“I just … didn’t want you to think we were together.  Like that.”

Danneel tilts her head, considering something.  Jared doesn’t get the sense that her filter keeps much out, a fact that probably wins her as many enemies as friends.  Jared finds it charming.

“I don’t know what happened last week, and I don’t need to.  I just … got a weird vibe. And maybe it was good-weird, I don’t know.  He wouldn’t tell me anything, and Jensen would say I’m being a nosy bitch just for coming here.  But too bad, I’m a nosy bitch and I didn’t want to see it end on a bad note when it didn’t need to.”

“Oh, um, that wasn’t—”

“Any of my business.  I know. But like I said, nosy.”

She narrows her eyes at him.  Jared braces himself for an encyclopedia of embarrassing questions.

“So are you… seeing anyone?  Married? Single? It’s complicated?”  She leans closer, her features going fox-like with interest.  God help anyone who tries to keep a secret from this woman.

At least his relationship status is pretty low on the list of awkward subjects.

“I … am not currently involved in anything serious,” Jared says noncommittally, not wanting to sound like the complete loser at love that he is. 

Danneel hums and gives a little nod, apparently satisfied.  Her lips are pursed to add something when Charles pokes his head in the door.

“Guess who has an appointment with the orthodontist?”

Tina gives her father a tolerant look.

“Lots of kids have braces, Dad, it’s not a big deal.”

Jared stifles a laugh and says his goodbyes to the Whitfield-Harris family.  He indulges in a stretch as he watches them collect their things from the waiting room. 

“Dr. Palicki is very tall,” Tina notes, waiting for Charles to button up his trim tweed jacket. 

“Yes, yes she is,” Gen sighs, and Jared has to stifle his second laugh at her dreamy tone.  Not that he’s one to judge the pining. He smiles at Danneel’s pointed wave goodbye.

~

“Do you remember that conference I went to in Denver last year?” Jared asks Gen after their last patient of the day leaves.

“Did you bring me back food from it?”

“What? I, no, I don’t think so.”

“Then I probably don’t remember it.  But go on.” Gen shrugs and returns to whatever plant feng shui she’s performing on their reception counter.

“I went to a party.  Like, an adult party.”

Gen pauses, a hedgehog planter brimming with succulents in her hand.

“Like for sex?” She stage-whispers, even though they’re completely alone in the office. 

“I went with Misha.”

“Ooooh, so it was for weird sex.  Oh God, did you see Misha have sex?”

“No, not, like, not at this specific party, no.”

Jared shuts his eyes against a dozen memories he’s meticulously expunged from his mental record.

“But I met this guy.  We hooked up, and it was … it was fucking incredible, Gen.  I’ve never connected with someone like that.”

“You’re basically a monk, so, yeah, I’m sure,” Gen says.  She blithely ignores Jared’s pointed glare and keeps arranging plants. 

“I’m not … anyway, we had this amazing night, but I kind of freaked out and left before I could get his number.  Or, like, his name.”

“Dr. Jared Tristan Padalecki.  Did you fuck someone without even knowing his name?”

“We … we didn’t have sex?”  

Gen arches an eyebrow.

“That must have been some good … adulting.” 

“Yeah,” Jared snorts, smiling.  “It was.”

“And you’re reminiscing about this guy because…?”

“Gen, he’s one of our patient’s fathers.”

“Oh shit,” Gen says softly, her usual sass set aside as she turns to Jared.

“Like, married with kids kind of patient’s father?”

“I thought so, but, it turns out, not really?”

“You have to tell me who it is.”

Jared sighs.  No use hiding it now.  “It’s June’s dad. She came in last week, her mom is Danneel, red hair—”

“The hottest MILF to ever MILF? Oh, my God, is she secretly gay too? Please say yes, please say yes.”

“I don’t think so.”

Gen pouts.

“Or, well, she’s married to another man.  And they seem very happy.”

“ _ Very happy _ ,” Gen grumble-whispers, rolling her eyes.  She sets her hedgehog on a back shelf and adjusts its neighbor, a ceramic tooth.  Aside from the abstract toothbrush watercolor, it’s the only piece of tooth-themed décor she’d allowed in the office. 

“Rumor has it that’s a thing people can be.”  Jared folds his arms on the impeccably neat front counter.

“What’re you gonna do?”

There’s a rustle as Gen dumps a fresh bag of stretchy bracelets into her mid-level treasure box.  Gen rules the kingdom of her restricted-access prize hoard with an iron fist.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a HIPAA violation to call your patient’s hot dad and ask him out.”

“I thought they added a Hot Dad Exemption in the 2016 update.”

Gen’s deadpan could freeze a popsicle.  She smiles primly at him and doles out the rest of her new shipment of toys.  Jared reaches over the counter for a stretchy Stegosaurus and snatches his hand back at a sharp prickle.

“Why is there a cactus there?”

He rubs at his hand and looks down.  There’s a small cactus in a geometric white planter.  A slim red ribbon is tied in a neat bow around the center.

“I thought that Dr. Palicki might … need a plant?”

“Did you now?”

Jared could tease her about it until she fessed up, but pots and kettles and all that.  He tucks his dinosaur toy into his pocket and winks at her.

“Her office looked very bare the last time I was over there.  Think it could use a woman’s touch.”

He waves a fond farewell to her middle finger and heads home.

~

“You absolute fuckwit.”

Through the palm-sized glow of Jared’s phone, Misha stares back at him, shirtless and green-faced with what is apparently a charcoal-algae face mask he’d made with his son. 

“Of course you should call him.”

Jared had only been able to avoid Misha for so long.  Jared can only leave so many messages on read before Misha starts calling the office.

“It sounds like his baby-mama was about to set you up, that’s as good an invitation as the universe could offer you.”

“I’m pretty sure Danneel would object to that phrase,” Jared says.

Misha’s scathing look is softened by the crumbling clay around his eyes. 

“Anyone with any sense would object to you being single.”

Misha’s about to say more when there’s a shriek and a clash of something metallic in the background.  Jared gets the quickest glimpse of Misha’s daughter galloping past, wearing what might be a knight’s helmet.

“Hang on, I’m going outside to avoid the jousting tournament.”

Jared can’t help but smile.  Misha has his quirks to put it mildly, but he’s an amazing father.

“Enough about my clusterfuck of a personal life, what have you been up to?” Jared asks, as eager to deflect the conversation as he is to catch up.  Misha fills him in on his pottery classes, Vickie’s new flair for making vegan ice cream from scratch, his son’s new flair for Drag Race, a few interesting ortho cases he’s working on, and the threesome he’s looking forward to having this weekend.  Being Misha, all of these things seem to occupy the same casual importance.

“You know I asked Oz about your mystery man.”

Jared wasn’t the only one who’d taken home a souvenir from the Black and Blue Party.  Misha had picked Osric up when he was supposed to be looking for Jared. Unlike Jared’s year of pining, Misha had spent his having Osric over for regular “play dates” with him and Vickie.

“He said he’d never heard a bad thing about him.  And let me tell you, Oz is a total yenta, he has dirt on everyone, so if this guy –”

The image on Jared’s screen goes sideways as Misha’s son dive-bombs him.  His face is smeared in a matching mask, clumps of it crumbling off as he wraps his arms around Misha’s neck.

“Dad, it’s time to wash our masks off!”

“Already?”

Misha fakes a pout and rights his phone.

“Miles, say goodnight to Uncle Jared.”

“Goodnight Uncle Jared!”

Miles runs off before Jared can properly respond.  Jared’s half-convinced Misha’s found a way to channel his children’s boundless energy into his own fountain of youth. 

“Goodnight, Uncle Jared,” Misha says, blowing Jared a kiss before he ends the call. 

While there are many things Jared does not envy about Misha’s life, in his own way he’s probably the closest to having it all of anyone Jared’s ever known.  He loves his family, his job, and his inclusive and notably acrobatic sex life. Jared scratches a distant itch on his nose, wondering what a homemade algae face mask actually feels like.

~

Jared’s holding his curing light over an eight-year-old’s first molar when Gen pops her head in the door.

“When you wrap up, you should come out and get your next patient yourself.”

Gen has a smile on her face that can only mean trouble.

Jared makes a face at her over his mask.

“June Harris-Ackles is here for her sealants.  With her dad.”

Gen’s gloating smile when his eyes go wide doesn’t even bother him.

Oh, God.

He shouldn’t have eaten that jelly doughnut French toast from Yardbird yesterday.  He should go hide in the utility closet behind the boxes of gloves.

He should pull Jensen into the utility closet with him.

“Thank you, Gen.”

Jared slaps his professional face back on and carefully pulls his light out of Nico’s mouth.  This poor kid doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Jared’s cresting wave of awkwardness.

“I’ll be right out.”

Sam gives him a look as she breaks down the operatory, but she doesn’t say anything if she notices his nervous pacing.  All of his staff members are inherently kind. It’s one of the only things you can’t train people to be.

Just like Jared can’t train himself not to trip over his own two feet when he goes out to meet Jensen and June.

Jensen’s wearing on old CCR tshirt that looks like it would be really soft all bunched up in Jared’s hands.  He’s got a good three-day scruff on his face and Jared is alarmingly, disgustingly willing to kick everyone out of his office so he can fall on his knees and put his mouth wherever Jensen will let him.

“Nice to meet you again, Dr. Padalecki.”

Jensen keeps one hand snugged in the front pocket of his worn-faded jeans and shakes Jared’s nerve-warmed palm with the other.  At least Jensen already knows he can get much, much sweatier.

“Awesome,” is Jared’s lame answer.  Thankfully June swoops in with her tooth fairy wand and a laundry list of questions about being a dentist to save Jared from his star-eyed purgatory.

“Junie’s been going on about being a dentist ever since she met you,” Jensen says, settling into one of the parent chairs at the foot of his operatory and crossing his arms over his chest. It does nothing to distract Jared from how perfect those arms are.

“Well, it’s pretty simple, June.”

Jared smiles and snaps his gloves on while Sam sets up their materials.

“First, you have to put in your application with the Tooth Fairy Board of Directors.  Then, the sorting hat tells you what kind of specialty you’re going to train in.”

June gives him a side-eyed grimace of recrimination that looks like it was directly transposed from Danneel’s face.

“I’m just kidding.  You have to work hard in school and study for a really, really,  _ really _ long time, and then you get to have the coolest job on earth.”

June nods at this apparently acceptable answer.  She’s a peach for her sealants, opening wide the whole time and giving his handiwork a shrewd assessment with the hand mirror when he’s done.

“I like them,” she nods, a decisiveness in her voice that far surpasses her age.  This kid is going to be unstoppable.

“Oh, good.”

He shouldn’t.  It’s not appropriate. 

“I’d hate to make your daddy mad.”

Jared hates himself a little – flirting with a dad in front of one of his patients? Seriously? – but it’s quickly subsumed by the flash in Jensen’s gaze when their eyes meet.

“Daddy doesn’t get mad, he just gets  _ disappointed _ .”

June verbally italicizes the last word in parody and Jared grins knowingly for Jensen’s patience and his parenting skills.  God, of course he’s a great dad.

Jared indulges in a wistful sigh before he slips his mask off.

Sam, bless every inch of her big, intuitive heart, jumps up to escort June to the coveted toy treasure chest.

Jensen hangs behind, rocking on the balls of his feet in a way that emphasizes both his bow legs and how desperately Jared needs to be between them.

“So, uh,” Jensen starts, just as Jared blurts out “I’m really glad you came, I—”

“No, you—”

“Oh, you can—”

They both stop, Jensen smiling and crossing his distracting biceps across his chest, Jared nervously digging for invisible buried treasure in the pockets of his white coat.

“I just wanted to apologize, for before.  If anything got weird. I mean, this is weird, right?”

Jensen’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“It’s, uh, definitely a first for me?” Jared licks his lips, regretting his phrasing right away.  Why does he always have to end up sounding like such a rookie? At least Jensen laughs.

“And look, if you never want to talk about it, I totally get it, and I respect your privacy and I’d never want to overstep any boundaries, so just let me know and we can act like the whole thing never happened.”

Jensen spreads his hands in front of them, wiping their proverbial slate clean.

“Oh, I, uh … is that what you want?”

Jared’s play-it-cool attempts are failing miserably.  He’s sweating under his coat and he’s one rogue elbow away from knocking over a tray of instruments.

Jensen rubs at his arm.

“I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable or jeopardize your work.  And I’m sympathetic, believe me. I mean, shit, when I’m not doing, you know.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows and gives Jared a look so meaningful his toes curl.

“I’m a dad who writes cartoons for a living.  I get discretion, trust me.”

“Wait, you do what?”

“Oh, I, um … I do character development.  For Illumination.”

Jared’s eyes double in size.  Jared has a doctorate and enough framed achievement paraphernalia to please even his own politely intolerant family, but some crucial part of Jared will always be his seven-year-old self – happiest with a cartoon and a bag of gummy candy the size of his head.

“Which ones?”

“Are you a fan of the Minions by any chance?”

Jared’s mouth drops open and he makes a noise that would sound immature coming from June.

“No way.”

Jensen laughs.  “Guilty. I’m sure there’s any number of parents out there who’d want my head on a pike after hearing the banana song for the millionth time.”

“God, you’re … perfect,” Jared whispers, a smile still breaking over his face when he blurts out, “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

Apparently, when faced with the literal Dream Daddy character standing in his office, Jared resorts to middle school pickup lines.

“Well, you’ve saved me from my second awkward question of whether one of your patient’s parents can ask you out on a date,” Jensen answers, the charm in his smile faltering slightly as he pauses.

“I’d love to.  But only if you promise to tell me what happened.  That night, you just … disappeared.”

The tasteful salvaged wood under Jensen’s feet sinks a little.  Of all the late-night replays he’s enjoyed of his night with Jensen, the way he’d chickened out and run for the exits without even saying goodbye was the part he liked revisiting the least.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“Why don’t you tell me over a nice steak?  Oh, shit, you’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No, sir,” Jared fires back, the standard Lone Star reply rolling off his tongue before he can stop himself.  Oops.

Jensen huffs, his eyes narrowing.  “Good boy.”

Sorry not sorry.  Jared’s blushing grossly as he gives Jensen his number, but he’s too fuzzy-warm to care.

~

Jensen suggests a restaurant over on La Cienega that Jared’s been wanting to try.  His pre-date jitters had kept him from eating anything heavier than a yogurt, and his ransacking of half his wardrobe just to settle on a plain back t-shirt (that might be a little too tight, he’s still not sure) had kept him from being his usual ten minutes early.  Jensen’s waiting outside, leaning against the wrought-iron fence with his arms crossed over … a plain black t-shirt. At least Jared’s not overdressed.

They make small talk as they order some appetizers to share.  They both order the steak.

Jensen toasts their cocktails with a shift of his body toward Jared and an offensively handsome smile on his face.  “Is there a not-awkward way to say, hey, how have you been since that random sex party?”

“Probably not as awkward as saying I’ve thought about that night … a lot?”  Jared stops himself before he says “every single day.”

“Me too.  I always wondered what happened.  I came back and you were just gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, struck suddenly by how true it is.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”  Jensen’s hand is warm where it closes over his for a brief second.

“No, I really am.  I just … it was like I came back to myself and it just hit me, like.  That was … fucking amazing. I’ve never felt that with anyone, not really, and it was like I was riding high on that but also … kind of sad?”

Jensen’s forehead creases, worry written on his face.

“Not, like, sad because of what happened.  It’s just … every time I think about trying to find someone, someone serious, it’s like … there’re these two parts to me.  I love what I do, I love working with kids and getting to wake up and be Dr. Jared every day. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.  But it’s like … people expect certain things. I’m out, professionally, and I promised myself I’d never compromise on that. But there’s still this pressure to be, I don’t know, kind of straight laced?  And it’s like, the guys who want to date me for that part of me, they want a lot of the same things I want – marriage, a family, a bunch of dogs, I don’t know – but they’re just boring as fuck in bed, you know?” Jared asks, shrugging.

Jensen laughs.

“Like, they’re either not interested in anything outside of vanilla sex, or they’ve always made me feel kind of guilty for asking for it.  And I’m not … there’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with what I want to do with another consenting adult. And then the guys who’re into the kinky stuff, they run the other way when I say I work with kids.  Or that I’m not into being in an open relationship. Or that one guy who said I was uptight because I wasn’t cool with ‘occasional’ meth use.”

Their waiter arrives with their appetizers and doesn’t bat an eye as Jared continues.  God bless LA.

“It’s fucking meth! It’s like being pregnant, I don’t know.  It’s a yes or no question. No one dabbles in meth. It’s not a juice cleanse,” Jared says, rolling his eyes.

Without asking, Jensen takes his plate and quietly starts serving him food.  There’s a hint of that same ease he’d felt when he’d been tied up under Jensen’s hands. 

“That’s one of the main reasons I decided to have Junie with Danny.  Every guy I’ve ever been compatible with … behind closed doors, you know, they were not on board with having kids.  Or even getting married.”

Jensen gives him a knowing look and places Jared’s plate in front of him. 

“I’m, uh, I’m not really into the poly thing either.  I mean, it’s great for a lot of people, just … not so much for me.”

“You don’t like sharing your toys,” Jared teases, liking the taste of it in his mouth.

“Yeah.”

Jensen licks his lips, an act that should be classified as a controlled substance.

“I just reached a point where I got sick of waiting.  And Danny was kind of there, too, she’d been dating this string of assholes, I’d been single for a long-ass time, and we just decided to go for it.”

There’s some kind of cheese situation in one of the appetizers that would normally make Jared moan in bliss, but he’s too caught up in Jensen to taste anything.  Jensen talks about his journey to fatherhood, his career, what inspires him. Jared drinks it all in. They’re barely halfway through their cocktails but Jared’s flushed, buzzing as Jensen leans in and looks him in the eye.

“OK, in Denver.  Was that really your first time?” Jensen asks.

“Yes,” Jared answers immediately.  Any notions he’d had about playing had gone right out the warehouse window after his night with Jensen.  He’d never done anything close to that.

“Damn,” Jensen says, his eyes twinkling over his drink.  He’s clearly pleased.

“Like I said, I’d fooled around a little, but … nothing even close to what we did.”

Jared takes a sip of his excellent bourbon.

“Venture a guess it wasn’t your first rodeo?”

Jensen snorts.  “Well, I went to my first rodeo when I was eleven, so—”

“Hey, Big D, I’m from Texas, too.”

“Hell of a place to grow up gay, huh?” Jensen says, grimly.

“I didn’t really grow up so much as sprint out the first chance I got.”

“Same.”

Jensen arches an eyebrow.  “I was lucky enough to have a Danneel, she just kind of towed me in her wake until we both ended up at Pratt.  But yeah, I got into scene stuff in college. I mean, shit, you take some pent-up gay kid from Texas and let him loose in NYC, things get pretty crazy, you know?”

Jensen’s ice clinks in his glass as he looks at Jared.

“I … kind of? I went to dental school in New York, NYU.  It was … a lot for some fresh off the ranch kid.”

Jensen had hardly come off a ranch, but his star-spangled suburbiana may as well have been a prairie settlement for his parents’ conservative values and distrust of anyone who didn’t love Jesus.

“I wanted to go to, like, leather bars and stuff, but I always chickened out.  My friend, Misha, the one who brought me to the party in Denver? We met in dental school, and he was a lot more, uh, comfortable with himself than I was.  Than most people are, I think. He tried to drag me to this bar one night. I think it was called the Eagle?”

“Oh, I know the Eagle.”

Jensen grins, his eyes sparkling with what must be dozens of good stories.  Jared wants to know every single one of them almost as badly as he wants to murder every guy who got to have Jensen before him.

“I just remember, there were these two guys outside, smoking cigars.  Well, one of them was smoking, and this guy was, like, straight out of a Tom of Finland drawing.  Like, the vest, the boots, the hat, the whole kit and caboodle. He was wearing aviator sunglasses.  At midnight. And his, I don’t know, boyfriend? Sub? Was like. A full dog. I mean, on a leash, hands and knees, with this puppy-face harness thing and a pair of … paw-mittens? And he was drinking out of a bowl.  On the street. I just … it was too much for me. I bolted. And Misha never let me live it down.”

That had been over ten years ago.  Jared can still smell the cigar smoke and the sweat of men braver than he was.

“Did the guy’s ears have spots on them?”

“Um? I think so?”

“Yeah, that sounds like Kevin and The Dane.  They’re great guys.”

“You know them?”

“Yeah, they were regulars at all the parties.  The pup stuff was never really my thing, but they hosted a great bootblacking night at The Cock.”

Jensen’s mouth is uniquely, perfectly shaped to say  _ cock _ in a way that turns Jared’s insides into a butterfly net.

“Who knows, maybe if you’d come in we’d have met a lot sooner.”

Jensen’s hand drifts to Jared’s, his fingertips trailing over Jared’s wrist.  Jared almost chokes on his ice. Is there some alternate universe where little pre-doc Jared had stumbled into Jensen’s arms (or landed at his feet?).  Where he hadn’t spent the last decade mostly-single and mostly-happy with the little life he’d built for himself?

“So, were you, um, were you always a dom?”

Jensen tilts his head, his eyes whiskey-bright and reminiscent.

“At first, I was a do-anything-I-could-get-my-hands-on,” he laughs.

“I did some really amazing shit and some really stupid, really reckless shit too.”  Jensen shakes his head.

“But eventually, I learned that I’m happiest when I’m the one in charge.”

Jared can hear his own swallow.  Jensen might, too, but the way he cocks his eyebrow and grins knowingly.

“What about you? Do you think you’d like to switch, or?”

“I guess I don’t really know, but no, I don’t think so?”

Jared shrugs.

“A lot of the guys I’ve been with, they all want me to be this like, dom masc top, you know?  Sort of happens when you’re a big dude, I guess, and it’s not like I hate topping, although I definitely prefer, you know.”

Jensen’s eyes are daring him to say it.

“I prefer bottoming,” Jared says, as sotto voce as possible without seeming like a total prude.

“And being dominant, it always kind of stressed me out.”

Jensen nods, bemused, like he understands but can’t quite relate.

“What do you like about it?”

Jensen raises his eyebrows and purses his lips in thought as he takes another sip from his well-nursed drink.

“Well, I like being in control, I guess that goes without saying.”

Jensen pauses, circling his thumb over Jared’s wrist.

“I guess what I really like is … taking care of someone.  Having someone trust me enough to know what they need, what they can take.  It’s exhilarating. Feeling someone let go in your hands, watching the way their eyes change until it’s just the two of you.  Nothing else makes me feel peaceful like that.”

“Peaceful,” Jared muses.  In the midst of all his dark fantasies and fevered desires, peace had never featured prominently, but it resonates inside him like a bell.

“Peaceful.  And really fucking hot.”

Jensen licks his lips, his eyes sweeping over Jared.

“There’s nothing like that feeling, where you’re so deep inside someone you can read their body like it’s your own.  When I can feel every little reaction you have, the way your shoulder tenses, the way your toes curl, the way your eyes roll back.  When the sounds you make mean more, or when they mean you need me to cut you down and tell you how good you did. The way you look when you’re about to come, and the way you look when I won’t let you.”

Jensen’s foray into the second person isn’t lost on Jared.  He turns his hand, just to find his wrist firmly encircled in Jensen’s grasp.  It’s a good place for it.

“God, Jared, I want to take you home and chain you to my bed and never let you leave.”

There’s an edge in Jensen’s voice, like he’s not sure if he’s half-serious.  Jared wants to live on that edge.

“I’m not usually a chained-to-the-bed-on-the-first-date guy, but,” Jared closes his hand over Jensen’s, pushing him to squeeze tighter over Jared’s wrist.

“This isn’t technically our first date, right?”

“Suppose not,” Jensen says, loosing a hit of his Texan drawl that scratches at every one of Jared’s high school locker room itches.

They settle their tab – Jared insists on paying – and stagger out to the parking lot.  Quicker than Jared can say cavity, Jensen’s got him backed up against his Prius and Jared’s getting kissed to shaking.

“You want to come home with me and show me what a good boy you are, Jared?”

“God, yes,” Jared moans, leaning in for another kiss and perfectly willing to settle for the backseat of Jensen’s car at this point.

He huffs in surprise when Jensen’s hand tugs through his hair, his glance pointed.  Jared melts.

“Yes, Sir.”

~

Years later, when Jared is telling the cocktail party version of their second-first-date to an appropriately adult audience, he’ll simply say that Jensen took him home, chained him to his bed, and never let him leave, which is true in spirit if not in fact.

~

Jared follows Jensen home, slowly whistling to himself and growing more and more impressed as they wind further up Cahuenga.  The Minions had been good to Jensen.

Genevieve would cut off a limb to feature Jensen’s house on her blog.  In a space that must be brilliantly sunny during the day, artfully arranged cabinets showcase vintage toys that makes Jared’s eighties-baby mouth fall open.  What would look cluttered in most spaces is well-curated and lovingly on offer here. Between the modern but still comfortable furniture, the raw-edge shelving and tables, and the presumably original framed cells from some of Jared’s favorite childhood movies (The Rocketeer, Fern Gully, the vastly underrated Iron Giant), Jensen’s house is pretty much the Barbie Boyfriend Dream House of Jared’s, well, dreams.  Complete with the gorgeous man currently backing him up against the massive butcher block kitchen island.

Jared could happily stand here and make out with Jared for the rest of his natural life, please and thank you, but they manage to separate long enough to stagger past Jensen’s office (which looks like the Pixar catalogue had a baby with Architectural Digest), June’s playroom (half science-lab, half princess-cave, Jared notes approvingly), up the stairs, past June’s bedroom (Jared dimly notices a stuffed bear that’s larger than him and Jensen combined), and into Jensen’s bedroom, a refuge of slate grey and cloud white. 

“What do you want to do, Sir?”

Jared steals another kiss at Jensen groans.

“I want to show you something.”

Jensen leads him by the wrist, in what will become an easy, lifelong posture for them.  Jared follows through the chrome-hued order of Jensen’s walk-in closet, which is larger than Jared’s dental school apartment.  Jensen punches in a code on a door at the far end.

He’s tingling with excitement and the persistent throb of his half-wood before Jensen even opens the door, and his mouth falls fully open when Jensen swings it all the way.

“Holy shit, you have a secret sex stuff room?”

This is literally Jared’s Barbie Dream House.

“Secret for now.  I know I’m biased because I’m her dad, but June is a little genius when it comes to getting into places she’s not supposed to be.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep this stuff here. But for now,” Jensen tugs him in, kissing Jared against a wall that clanks with heavy leather bondage gear and neat coils of rope.

“Welcome to my secret sex stuff room.”

There are things hanging from the walls and lining the black lacquer shelves that Jared can’t even name.  He bites his lip, humming somewhere between anxious and exhilarated. Jared’s always been an apt pupil when faced with new things.

Thinking about Jensen as his teacher isn’t doing anything to help his growing hard-on.

“You know what I thought the first time I saw you, Jared?”

“Why is he sweating so much? A doctor should really look at some of those moles?”

Jensen arches an eyebrow, refusing the bait of Jared’s nervous jackass reflex.

“I thought, I want to hang him from my ceiling and fuck his mouth until he can’t see straight.”

Jared’s in a dream house with a dream boy saying dream things.  This is the best dream he’s ever had.

“Can I do that, Jared?”

Jensen’s holding two coils of rope and a big, stainless steel ring in his hand.  Jared feels half-fucked just from the way Jensen’s looking at him.

“Yes, Sir.”

Whatever dream this is, Jared hopes he never wakes up.

~

Intellectually, Jared understands the appeal of sadomasochism, BDSM, whatever you want to call it.  Despite popular imagination, most people who are into kinky sex aren’t emotional basketcases who can’t enjoy healthy intimacy.  Whether it’s from towing the line of a physical or emotional boundary, it’s all about the endorphin rush. Like marathon runners or people who jump out of planes, everyone’s chasing a high.

Jared’s never felt a high like this.

Suspended from what it turns out is more than just a decorative hook for a designer mobile, Jared hangs halfway over Jensen’s bed.  Hexagon patterns of rope crisscross over his chest, circling into neat knots on his back that rise up to the stainless steel ring that serves as an anchor point.  His hands are clasped behind his back and his head hangs down, his hair a shag next to his face.

His right leg is bent behind him, arching up to connect to the ring in a long line from his bound ankle.  More rope across the front of his thigh helps hold his weight, as do the ropes slung around his hips like a climber’s harness.  His left leg is free, positioned just close enough to the floor and far enough from the edge of the bed that his tippy-toes can graze the hardwood floor and offer him the barest balance.  It hurts, all 220 rock-solid pounds of him compressed into a dozen pressure points of rope. 

Easing onto his toes offers him a moment of relief, just to kick up an aching burn in his hips when he shifts his weight off his chest.  It’s maddening. Jared feels like he’s flying.

“Strong  _ and _ flexible.  You really are perfect, aren’t you?”

Jared groans, flexing his leg more out of desperation than anything else.  Jensen’s praise sinks into him, throbbing out another pulse of precome from his dripping-hard cock.

There’s a puddle on Jensen’s floor.

Jared skates onto his tiptoes again, finding no purchase and groaning in frustration. 

“You know you can tap out if you need to, right?”

Jensen’s voice is soft in his ear.

“Yes, Sir.”

Jared’s own voice is strained by shot through with grit.  He’s not even close.

“Good.”

There’s a whoosh above him, one leg going slack while another tenses.  His legs arch back as his chest eases down, swinging him from parallel to the floor into a nosedive.  Places that had gone numb fire back to life as his weight distribution shifts. His free leg gets caught up with two loops of rope over his thigh.  He’s floating over Jensen’s bed, his face just level with the pillows and his … oh.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Jensen’s hands stroke through his hair, gripping and releasing like he’s trying to find the perfect purchase on Jared’s head.  God.

“I still think about it.”

Jensen settles one hand onto Jared’s hair.  Jared’s scalp tingles, a million little shocks shooting through him as Jensen pulls him closer.  Up on his knees with his thighs spread wide, the bulge of Jensen’s cock in his jeans is a few tantalizing inches from Jared’s mouth.

“The way you kissed my belt.  How bad you wanted it.”

Jensen cups over his cock with his free hand.  He’s so close Jared’s lips brush against his knuckles.

“Want it, Sir.”

Jared’s voice belongs to someone else.  Raspy, half-broken, so quick to beg for Jensen’s dick he barely recognizes himself.

“Please, Sir.”

He likes it.

All Jared can do is arch his neck.  He presses a kiss to the back of Jensen’s hand.  For every inch of him hanging on the brink of pain, rope digging into his skin, the world narrows down to this point of connection between them.

“Fuck,” Jensen whispers.  He drags his hand against Jared’s lips. 

“I want to give you everything, Jared.”

He shifts, popping open the top button of his jeans.  He slides the zipper down, revealing a sliver of skin paler than Jensen’s sun-kissed shoulders and, fuck.  He’s got freckles there, too.

“Give you everything you need.”

The bed dips as Jensen shoves his jeans and his boxer briefs down his thighs, just enough to pull his cock out.  Jared is keenly aware of every inch of his naked body, tied up and twirling over Jensen’s bed like a desperate piñata, while Jensen remains fully clothed with his gorgeous dick in his hand.  The imbalance, that’s part of it. He has to earn every inch of Jensen while his own body is on display, stripped of all his power and his title and his respectability. His responsibility. 

Jared’s own cock throbs as he sinks deeper into his body and Jensen’s hands.  Jensen knows what to do, knows what he needs. 

He works on instinct when Jensen’s cock pushes into his mouth, not that he has to work very hard to summon it.  Jared’s always loved this. He’d known he was different than other boys when his late-night sock-ruining fantasies started to center around living on his knees to service the entire football team instead of getting up close and personal with the cheerleaders. 

For once in his life, Jared doesn’t have to mentally beg his partner to be rougher.  Jensen slides home, heedless of Jared’s gag reflex or meddling need for oxygen. He gets a solid grip in Jared’s hair like he owns it, forcing his way to the back of Jared’s throat.  Jared’s eyes roll back at the echo of his own wet choking noises and the mounting groan in Jensen’s throat.

“Your fucking  _ mouth _ ,” Jensen growls, pulling back enough to let Jared gasp in an ugly, spit-strung heave of breath.  The ropes crisscrossing his chest sigh as he strains forward, tongue curling out to lap at the fat head of Jensen’s dick.  For all that he’s imagined it, it’s never been this good. Jensen fucks into his mouth like he built it, easy and proprietary, praising Jared for taking it and hissing in pleasure when Jared chokes wet-eyed and blissful around him.  Only Jared’s body exists, all other parts of him subsumed by the steady rhythm of Jensen using his mouth. Jared could live in this liquid state, as time slows and rushes past him all at once, suspended in the salt taste of Jensen and the ocean of his own indulged desire. 

“You want it, good boy, want me to come in your mouth?”

Jensen’s voice is the grit-jawed kind of steady over the rasp of his voice.

Jared’s “Yes, Sir,” might be worse or it might just be the desperate whine that shudders through his whole body.  Jensen hears it either way.

“All of it,” Jensen growls, like Jared needs any urging as Jensen floods salty and hot into his mouth.

There’s a quick rush of rope above him and then Jared’s face-down on Jensen’s bed.  It’s cloud-soft after Jared’s suspension against the empty air and his own weight. 

Jared darts his tongue out to catch a stray drop of Jensen’s come on the corner of his mouth.  His lips are red and raw, throbbing in time with the rest of his body as he settles against the mattress.  His relationship with gravity has barely returned when Jensen hauls his legs up, bending his knees to secure his ankles to his hands.  A hogtie. Jared’s seen this in porn.

“You did so good.”

Jensen’s hands stroke up and down his sides, across his back, over the tops of his feet.  He manhandles Jared with a confidence that makes Jared’s aching dick leak into the sheets.

“You’re gonna come for me, good boy.”

Jensen’s hands dig into the tender insides of his thighs, spreading Jared’s legs apart.  Cut from his strings, Jared’s floating consciousness sinks back into his body. He’s strung out and desperate to come, so close to the edge it hurts.

Just the soft snick of Jensen opening what is God willing a bottle of lube sends a full-body shock through him.  Exhaustion is seeping into him now, coursing strain through his shoulders as he tries to grind his cock against the bed for some fleeting relief.  He arches his back, trying to get his knees under him just to moan pathetically at the ache in his balls.

“I love seeing you like this,” Jensen sighs, the sound of a man watching a sunset or admiring his new car, not the sweaty, squirming mess Jared’s making in his bed.  Jared stills, letting Jensen guide him back down until he’s flat against the bed, arms and legs bent back and throbbing behind him, his cock pulsing against the sheets.  Jared’s one giant heartbeat.

“All pent up for me.”

Wet fingers dip between Jared’s cheeks and there, yes, there it is, what Jared needs.  He writhes back, earning a honey-warm chuckle from Jensen.

“Need it, don’t you?”

Jensen sinks one finger inside him, enough to make Jared and his cock sob into the sheets but not nearly enough for the burning hunger eating him from the inside out.

“Need to get fucked on both ends, don’t you?”

Jared’s answering groan earns him two of Jensen’s fingers, sunk to the knuckle and twisting just right.  A river of precome slicks his belly, his cock trapped between his skin and the sheets.

“You’re gonna come like this, Jared, fuck yourself on my hand until I say you’re done.”

Jared, humping against the mattress and fucking every dead-sore inch of his body against Jensen’s hand, isn’t too good to follow orders.

There’s no rhythm to it, no grace to the rutting, animal jerk of his body, the rumble of frustration in his chest.  The sheets bunch into jagged hills beneath him, darkening with his sweat and precome and fuck, probably his drool. He strains against his bonds, wrists and ankles chafing as he squirms to drive Jensen’s fingers deeper.

“You want to come for me, good boy?”

There’s a stretch and a burn and Jared’s so full.  Jensen’s fingers churn inside him, noisy-wet and relentless.  Every shift of Jared’s hobbled body riles up a new string of nerve endings inside him and grinds his dick into the sheets.

“Come for me, show me what this ass is going to feel like when I make you come on my cock.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared bites into the sheets.  Fingers and a bedspread aren’t enough to make him come, not under normal circumstances, but Jensen has a way of upending everything Jared has come to accept as normal.

Jared comes with the sheets in his teeth and Jensen’s hand on his neck.

He floats through the afterglow, the flame of his desire guttering down to the wick.  There’s a hint of the panic he’d felt in Denver as the smoke in his brain clears. His dignity had fled the scene without a moment’s hesitation and maybe he’s too much, too needy, too desperate and hungry and pathetically easy.  Jensen’s probably used to elegant, experienced men who don’t leave Golden Retriever-sized wet spots on his bed. But then Jensen’s kicking miles of rope off the bed and wrapping Jared up in his arms and his ruined sheets.

“God, Jared.”

Few people can make Jared feel small.  Jensen hauls half of Jared’s body onto his own and plants Jared’s face on his chest.  His hands pet through the sweat-soaked ruin of Jared’s hair, sowing order lock by lock.

“You’re … you’re amazing.”

Jared tucks up against him, loping his leg across Jensen’s thigh.  The braided intaglio of rope dances pink across Jared’s skin. Jensen reaches down, skims his fingers over the remnants of his work.

“Did you like it?”

It takes an extraordinary effort for Jared to raise his head and give Jensen the universal “are you fucking insane?” look.

Jensen smiles.  “I didn’t push you too hard?  I know I can get carried away.”

Jensen can carry him away anywhere.

“It was perfect.”

Jared’s been kissed before, but Jensen wipes the slate clean on that, too.  He grips Jared’s chin, tilts him up, looks him in the eye. It’s unbridled, vulnerable for the sheer display of animal violence and hunger he can read behind Jensen’s eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll live long enough to do all the things I want to do to you,” Jensen says, half under his breath.

Jared swallows, his throat the good kind of ragged, thick enough to stifle the million stupid answers he could give.  You don’t say things like “I think I’m in love with you” while you’re lying in a patch of your own drying semen.

“I want,” Jensen starts, tucking the pad of his ring finger over one of the deeper rope indents on the front of Jared’s thigh.

“I want to do terrible things to you, Jared, I can’t even … you know, I freaked out a little, too.  When we met. The way you just trusted me, just opened up … it brings out this part of me, like a part that scares me a little sometimes.  Like I can’t stay detached. Like if I held on as much as I wanted I’d never be able to let go.”

“You don’t.”  Jared’s lip is raw where he bites it.  He takes a deep breath through his nose.

“You don’t have to?”

Jensen shifts, rolling them over until they’re face to face on their sides.  New aches bloom all over Jared.

“I just … I need to know that we can be more than just…” Jensen trails off, the fingers he’d used to bring Jared off dragging over the echo of his suspension points.

“What if we just got everything we wanted for once?” Jared says softly.

Jensen grins.  That’s a mouth Jared could stare at forever, kiss a hundred shades of red and back.

“I think that only happens in the movies.”

“So you can write me a new one,” Jared says, wrapping his hand over Jensen’s.

“You can call it The Tooth Fairy and … and the Masked Prince.”

“Does it have a talking animal?  Because I could sell that,” Jensen says.  Mock-serious is far too handsome a face on him.

“I think it might.”

Jared bites his lips before he can say “let’s buy a farm and rescue a dozen dogs and brew our own beer and build a sex dungeon in the basement.”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

Jensen’s voice is soft, guarded.  He’s warm when Jared kisses him.

“Of course it does.”

~

Sometimes Jared misses sleeping in on Sunday mornings.

Jensen sleeps like a log, a really warm, really snuggly log.  Even Jensen can’t sleep through the squealing barrage of June jumping into bed with them at 7 am. 

“Daddy-I-want-breakfast,” June sing-songs, rocking back and forth.  Jensen throws an arm over his face.

“Junebug, you know how to get a gogurt.”

“Gogurt isn’t breakfast, Daddy!” June’s outrage is so genuine Jared has to laugh.

“She’s right,” Jared adds, shrugging as Jensen glares at him.

“Traitor.”

Jared’s lived with him for a year and there are still moments when he can’t believe this is his life.  Jensen’s spellbinding brand of handsome is finest first thing in the morning, when he’s fuzzy and mumbly and a little bit grumpy.  He peels his arm back enough to skirt one eye between Jared and June.

“We have to eat Penny’s eggs!”

They’d spent their Saturday at the farmer’s market, where they’d run into half of Jared’s patients and Gen and Adrianne shopping for mushrooms.  Gen had looked markedly relaxed for being up so early on a Saturday. Adrianne’s a good influence on her.

June had been delighted to find a stand that sold eggs with little stories about each hen, especially Penny the grouchy hen who pecks at her sisters when she’s cranky.  

“She sounds like your Daddy,” Jared had joked, to June’s utter delight and Jensen’s indulgent eye roll.  Jensen is living up to his avian doppelgänger this morning. He rolls out of bed with a bear growl, taking June in his arms and slinging her over his shoulder. 

After a lovely breakfast of Jensen’s scrambled Penny eggs and some free-range bacon, June disappears to work on a “secret project.”  The professional in Jared will always feel good that June is hitting all her developmental milestones. Her latest streak of fierce independence is healthy and good for her emotional development.

He cleans up the dishes and takes what’s left of the coffee out on the deck.  Living in LA would make the most jaded out-of-towner take the weather for granted, but today is glorious Jared has to close his eyes and appreciate it.  Sunlight streams over his legs, warming him. Sundays are beautiful.

The deck door slides open and Jared opens his eyes to see June holding out a folded piece of paper.  SECRET is scrawled over it in pink crayon.

“This is for you, Jared.”

Jared smiles.  It had taken June about a year to stop calling him Dr. Jared.

“Thank you, Junie.”

He opens it, expecting yet another abstract portrait of Peppa the Pig to add to his impressive collection.  He squints in the sun, tracing over June’s shaky, Crayola script.

“Will you marry my dad?”

Underneath are two boxes, one with Yes and one with No written beside it.  Before Jared can even process things, June shoves a yellow crayon into his hand.

“You have to pick one.”

Jared looks up, happy tears springing into his eyes as he looks at Jensen.  He’s level height with June, down on one knee like every stupid Hallmark movie daydream Jared’s ever had.

Jared draws a thick yellow check mark next to Yes.

June’s face scrunches up as she reads his answer. 

“He says yes!”

June’s arms rise up into tiny fists.

“I’m going to be a flower girl!”

Crying, and not at all ashamed of it, Jared wraps his arms around Jensen and kisses him while June whoops.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he kisses into Jensen’s mouth.  They break apart for a moment, long enough for Jensen to whisper “I love you.”

Jared nods and buries his face in Jensen’s neck, whispering so softly only Jensen can hear him.

“Yes, Sir.”

~

__   


“Let me see this baby!”

Jared has his arms out before Danneel even lets the door close.  Jensen gives Charles a hug and a knowing smile at the exhausted expression on his face as he’s drowned in hugs from Tina and June.  Jared’s not sure which one of them is more excited to be a big sister. They crowd around Danneel as she pulls back the blanket on the newest Harris-Whitfield family member.

Even exhausted and barely a week out of the hospital, Danneel looks beautiful.  That mama-glow is no joke.

“Meet baby Stella,” she says softly, smiling up at Jared and handing him the sleeping bundle in her arms.

Jared cradles her in the crook of his arm, cooing and turning to a pile of mush the second she lets out a tiny yawn and rubs her hand across her face.  He sits down on the couch and invites June and Tina over.

“She’s wrinkly,” June notes, her voice reserved and curious. 

“She’s was inside of your Mom’s uterus for nine months,” Tina says, thrilled for another opportunity to flaunt her hard-won biology skills.  “You’d be wrinkly too.”

“All babies are wrinkly,” Jared says.  He cranes his neck until he can brush his nose over the top of her head. 

“It’s true, Junebug, you looked like a little raisin when we brought you home,” Jensen says, bending over the edge of the couch to press a kiss of his own to the baby’s head.  Jared counts his blessings that he married a man who appreciates baby-head smell.

“The cutest raisin ever,” Danneel adds, kissing June on the forehead.

“And this little raisin is so lucky to have two big sisters to take care of her,” Jared adds, the professional in him mindful not to exclude the older girls from the fanfare.

“You girls ready to come back and help us get Stella all settled in?” Charles asks.  June and Tina chatter away about their extensive plans for baby Stella. Jared reluctantly releases her back to her father, warmed by the look of sheer adoration on Charles’ face.

“Thank you so much for watching them,” Charles says, giving Jared and Jensen big hugs. 

They help Charles and Danneel get everyone in the car, no small feat with a newborn and a carseat.  After triple-checking that all stuffed animals and tooth fairy accessories are with their rightful owners, Charles backs their “truck” (his nickname for their painfully parental Suburban) out of the driveway.  Jensen’s hand closes over Jared’s neck.

“I know you’re as tired as I am, but we’ve had the kids for two weeks.”

Jensen massages at Jared’s neck and leads him back inside.  There’s kid detritus everywhere. They’d both lost their will to clean about two days ago, and a phenomenal assortment of toys, books, games, science projects, half-finished robot costumes, half-eaten healthy snacks, and art supplies spill from every flat surface.  Tina had started a diorama about her latest obsession – Trilobytes, naturally – and spears of black sculpey radiate out from the coffee table. Jensen sends half a Lego Star Wars rebel base flying into oblivion as he pulls Jensen toward the stairs. 

“If I don’t get inside you right now I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

The lego Jared steps on is a small and reasonable price to pay for Jensen saying shit like that.  He hooks his hands into Jensen’s waistband as he follows him up to the bedroom.

“Put your collar on and wait for me on the bed.”

Jensen disappears into their closet.  There’s a soft click as he opens the second door that they won’t be able to hide much longer.  They’ve been talking about the feasibility of buying an apartment downtown just for “fun times”.  For now, Jared fishes his collar out from its hiding place in the back of his sock drawer. The leather is soft, worn smooth with years of use and the emollient of Jared’s skin.  It’s an inch thick, wide enough to feel like a presence of his throat but thin enough not to restrict his movement. He buckles it on, his fingers moving over the clasp like second nature.

Without any explicit instructions otherwise, Jared waits for Jensen on his hands and knees on the bed.  He faces the discretely durable slatted headboard and closes his eyes, sinking into his body. The silence of their bedroom washes over him, a blessed change from the rambunctious shrieking that’s filled their home for the last two weeks.  He jumps when Jensen plops a mountain of leather restraints and shiny things next to him. 

“Think I got a little ambitious.”

Jensen kneels next to him and slides the small lock through Jared’s collar.  It clicks shut, such a small sound for such a profound change. When Jared’s locked in his collar, Jensen isn’t his loving husband, isn’t the world’s best dad and best friend and overall best person Jared’s ever known.  He’s just Sir, and Jared doesn’t need to make any more decisions. Jensen’s hand strokes over his shoulder, finding him right where he’s sore.

“You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Jared lets his arms splay out in front of him.  Their bed is offensively comfortable underneath them.

“Answer me.”

The swat to his ass is nothing compared to their unique brand of normal.  Jared squirms, arousal sparking over the dead ache in his bones. 

“Yes, Sir.”

He is.  He’s exhausted.  He’s also half-hard at just the hint of Jensen’s hand on his ass.

“It’s OK, we can save all this for later.”

It’s true.  Jared’s too tired to endure much with more than the most joyless endurance.

“Not too tired to get fucked, Sir.”

It’s provocative, the kind of thing that’s equally likely to land him with a gag in his mouth or a paddle across his ass.

Jensen clicks his tongue.  His nails scratch blunt across Jared’s skin, dragging over the curve of his ass and sinking into his hip. 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

Even at his most strict, Jensen always has fondness in his voice.  Jensen is generally the caffeine-deprived grump to Jared’s up-and-at-‘em.  There’s no way he’s not as tired as Jared. Hopefully not  _ too _ tired.

“Need me to take care of you, Jay?”

Jensen’s hand slides down, his thumb teasing over the crack of Jared’s ass.

“Yes, Sir,” Jared answers, too quickly to quell the whine in his throat.  He doesn’t care.

“Greedy,” Jensen hums.  The bed dips, rustles, settles back in place and then there are two slick fingers circling over Jared’s hole.  Just the brush of sensation sends relief thrumming through his body.  _ Yes _ .

“Need me to fill you up, good boy?

Jared hikes his hips back in answer, chasing Jensen’s fingers and earning a soft laugh. 

“You’re spoiled.”

Jensen cuts off his retort with the slow, thick sink of his fingers.  Jared opens easy, as trained to this as he is to the clink of his lock or the steely green in Jensen’s eyes when he’s really fucking in for it.  Jared isn’t spoiled. He’s ruined. It’s wonderful.

“Hands behind your back.”

Jared slopes down to the bed.  His weight settles across his chest while his hips hike up into the air.  The stretch is pleasant, opening his shoulders and twisting his poor, overworked neck.  He clasps his hands behind his back, holding his own wrists. Jensen’s hand closes over his and something in Jared sinks into perfect stillness.

“You’re gonna pay for this later,” Jensen says.  There’s a thin line between threats and promises in their bed.  Jared just arches back, churlish. If he’s paying, he’ll pay big.

Jensen always takes forever to tease him open and today is no exception.  Jared’s writhing for it by the time Jensen presses fat and slick against his hole.  With his hand holding Jared exactly where he needs to be, Jensen sinks inside him and doesn’t stop until Jared’s one big puddle beneath him.  Jensen can play him, knows every chord of Jared’s body, knows when to speed up just to cut off before Jared can’t stand it.

Other nights, they can do this for hours, chasing toward the end just to rein it in, reducing Jared to tears and sweat, the salt essence of himself.  Tonight, it’s a generous five minutes before Jensen closes over his back, his breath on Jared’s neck when he tells him to come. This is as wired into Jared as breathing.  With the steady caress of Jensen inside him, Jared seizes up and shudders through his orgasm, Jensen pinning him down and growling praise into his ear.

Jensen follows right after him, another testament to their mutual exhaustion.  His fingers dig into Jared’s skin like a kiss, biting and as hungry as Jared is endlessly full.  Jared’s bones melt into their bed, every inch of him slack and happy. 

“I’ll clean you up in a second,” Jensen mumbles into his shoulder.  His weight drapes over Jared like a living, loving blanket. 

“Mmph,” Jared answers, disappearing into the bed and Jensen’s arms.  He drifts off as Jensen’s fingers slide under his collar, tucked against the side of his neck where Jared’s heart beats soft and steady.

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Saying Your Names by Richard Siken  
>  _your breath on my neck like a music that holds  
>  my hands down, kisses as they burn their way  
> along my spine_


End file.
